


Blood of my Blood, Flesh of my Flesh

by xdarksistahx



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1930s, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Childhood Trauma, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flashbacks, Half-Vampires, Incest, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Deaths, Possessive Behavior, Purebloods, R Plus L Equals J, Reincarnation, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Time Skips, Vampire Hunters, Violence, Witches, dark characters, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:18:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 69,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22743400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xdarksistahx/pseuds/xdarksistahx
Summary: Murder and intrigue are what bring Jon Snow to the bustling city of King's Landing. There he uncovers centuries worth of secrets that shatter his reality. Everything is not as it seems; people are not what they seem. Past and present collide, old wounds are reopened, and new love is found. However, death and tragedy ever loom in the darkness. Will Jon survive or will he drown in the depths of haunting purple eyes? [HIATUS]
Relationships: Arthur Dayne/Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Daenerys Targaryen/Viserys Targaryen, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, past Jon snow/Ygritte - Relationship
Comments: 409
Kudos: 421





	1. Overture I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moodboard by my baby iamsmall

_**Winterfell -1910** _

“I have a gift for you, brother,” Viserys announces as he ushers the doe-eyed blonde into the suite.

Their ship _Empress_ docked only an hour ago in White Harbour and his brother’s antics have already begun. A month at sea is akin to torture, so Rhaegar understands his brother’s haste. For an immortal, time can be as shapeless as the rain. But even creatures as ancient as they are can grow restless. 

Viserys has the woman stand beneath the light for better inspection. She’s young, in her early twenties judging by her scent. She’s in relatively good health except for the faintest hint of nicotine in her bloodstream. Crinkling his nose faintly, Rhaegar twirls his finger, indicating that he wants her to turn around for further appraisal. 

Rhaegar is a picky eater as of late. There was a period, five decades to be precise when he gorged on grief during a dark state. He ate anything and everything. When he reflects on that time, he’s filled with repulsion, mostly at himself. 

The woman turns around slowly. When she faces Rhaegar again, Viserys touches the thin straps of her nightgown delicately. Out of his two siblings, Viserys has always been the cruelest, and he’s oftentimes brash and reckless. But he’s patient with these sorts of things. Viserys eases the fabric down her alabaster skin, stopping short of her narrow hips. She’s very thin, Rhaegar notes. In a near sickly manner.

His nose crinkles further. 

Viserys’s long nail traces around a pale nipple as he kisses along her shoulder. “Thoughts?” he asks. 

“Thank you for the gift. Regretfully I must decline.” 

The woman blinks owlishly. “He doesn’t want me?” she asks, disbelief clear in her voice. 

Disregarding her, Viserys assures Rhaegar that he’s not done. His brother steps out of the suite, leaving Rhaegar there with the affronted woman. She’s still asking him why he doesn’t want her and if he’s aware of who she is. She’s a big deal around here, apparently. 

To Rhaegar, she’s another incessant fly buzzing about. He contemplates snapping her neck to quiet her. But he doesn’t want to spoil his brother’s meal; dead blood is not as good, and it’s unwise to consume. Thankfully, Viserys’s absence is short. He returns with another gift. This time it’s a shirtless man with tanned olive skin, a sculpted upper body, and dark hair that falls down his back. High cheekbones, a Greek nose, and violet eyes. 

Rhaegar stands. “You’ve outdone yourself, brother.” He approaches the man and cups his cheek. “Where did you find a creature like this in this bleak place?” 

Pleased with himself, Viserys smiles wide, flashing his pearly white teeth. “I found him by the docks. He’s Dornish.” When the blonde tries to interrupt him, he grabs her by the neck, shutting her up instantly; she’s not dead, only sleeping. “He tried to fight me. Normally they cower and submit easily. He’s not like the others.” 

That much is apparent. Even now the man is staring defiance at them despite the compulsion he’s under; compulsion is one of their many tricks. With direct eye contact, they can make humans their puppets. Rhaegar has a fondness for defiant humans. It would appear the woman came willingly so compulsion wasn’t required. Does she understand what they are? What they intend to do to her? He doubts it. 

“Do you want him?” Viserys asks, releasing his hand from the woman’s neck. She falls over and he catches her. “I have two more waiting.” 

“You can have the rest,” Rhaegar says, dragging his hand down the man’s abdomen. “This is enough for me.” 

Viserys takes his leave. 

Any other time they would’ve dined together, perhaps even indulged in more than just blood. But the days or threesome, foursomes, and orgies have come to an end. Even now, Rhaegar only drinks from the beautiful man despite being open to more than that. He no longer needs proxies to fill in for who he truly desires, you see. 

On this day, eighteen years ago, his beloved was reborn. He’s come here for her. That’s the only reason why they returned to these cursed lands. 

Rhaegar removes his fangs from the man’s neck, blood dripping down his chin. He holds the man close to him, enjoying his warmth. “What is your name?” 

“Arthur,” the man replies in an empty voice. 

“I will keep you a little while longer, Arthur.” As a treat during the pursuit of his true desire. It will take time to woo her. During that time, he’d like a reliable source of food; comfort. “You’ve fed me well.” He licks the man’s neck for another taste. “Sleep now.” 

Arthur does as he’s bid.

Leaving the man on the sofa, Rhaegar exits the suite. It isn’t as extravagant compared to what they’re accustomed to. They’ve lived in castles, manors, and have even made islands their homes. For a long time, they ruled the world, traveling from country to country, city to city, feasting, and fucking, doing as they liked. 

With the turn of the century and the evolution of human intelligence, they had to cut back on some of their decadence. 

Viserys is in the suite across the hall, balls deep inside a dusky woman as he drinks from her when Rhaegar enters. The others are laid out on the floor, drained and cold. His younger brother’s appetite remains unchanged after all this time. 

“That was fast,” Viserys says. He sits up, holding the woman’s leg as he fucks her. She’s moaning loudly, her eyes are blown wide with ecstasy, and her sweat glistened skin glows beneath the light. 

Rhaegar lays down on the chaise lounge, his long legs hanging off the edge. “I only drank from him.” He runs his fingers through his long hair, sighing loudly. “I’m anxious.” 

Viserys puts his hands over the woman’s mouth to muffle her. “You’ve been like this ever since you sensed her birth.” 

It happened when they were in Prague, staying in a Baron’s summer home. They were having an orgy of biblical proportions in honor of the solstice. It was during then that Rhaegar intended to take his sister, Daenerys, up on her offer. 

Centuries ago, in the early years of their descent into their new life as creatures of the night, they both fell in love with humans. They found two people who knew what they were and accepted them. In their reluctance to change them, their loved ones perished. 

With all of their power, they couldn’t bring them back. They traveled around the world, seeking the aid of witches, warlocks, and even demons. Everyone said the same. They said that for the best possible outcome they would simply have to wait for their loves to be reincarnated. So they waited. For five centuries. Purebloods like them are stronger when they’re mated to their soulmates. It’s what sets them apart from wild vampires. 

Without their mates, they fall into dark states. 

Rhaegar had his dark state a half-century after the death of his mate. It’s because of him that the world is aware of their kind, it’s his image that graces the pages of history texts and books on the occult. And it is because of the devastation he unleashed on the world that the Night’s Watch exists; a hunter’s organization. 

The dark states are unpredictable. They can be prevented, however. 

Viserys doesn’t kill the woman once he’s done. He lets her sleep on his bed. It’s a sign that he intends to keep her around for now. Pulling up his black trousers, he sits on the coffee table in front of the chaise lounge. 

“I miss Daenerys,” Viserys says, pouting. 

Like this, his brother almost looks adorable and sweet, though, he’s anything but. Viserys is sadistic, hedonistic, and psychotic. Then again, Rhaegar supposes they’re all like that in some way. 

“As do I,” he says. “She’s never been upset with me for this long.” 

“Well, you did reject her.” 

Even outside of a dark state, their suffering is endless without their mates. Constantly, they’re consumed by grief and abjection. They could fuck and drain an entire city and would still feel unsatisfied. But with another pureblood, he could be sated; not as fully as he would be with his mate but better than he would with anyone else. 

Daenerys suggested that until their mates were reincarnated that she and Rhaegar tend to each other’s physical needs. They were to share their blood and their bodies. But when he sensed the return of his true love, he rejected her offer. 

Out of anger and spite, Daenerys has been traveling on her own for the past eighteen years. Last they heard she was in Mereen, ruling the ancient city from the shadows. She’s called the Silver Queen by some and the Bride of Death by most. Viserys communicates with her via Raven—a spell that allows speedy communication—as often as he can. It’s safer for them to stick together, but it’s understood that they require their space from time to time. 

“Jacaerys’s rebirth will come soon,” Rhaegar says. “Dany survived two centuries without crumbling. She can survive another two decades.” 

Viserys removes the red ribbon from his hair, tousling his silver curls. “Nightfall is approaching. Shall we have a night on the town?” 

Despite the lore in the occult books, sunlight isn’t fatal. Does it weaken them, irritate their eyes, and sullen their moods? Yes. Burst them into flames? No. Because they are the first of their kind. Turned vampires can’t survive in the sun, however. Perhaps that is where the hunters have gotten their information from. 

“Today is her birthday,” Rhaegar says, closing his eyes and picturing her face. “How would an eighteen-year-old, in this era, celebrate their birthday?” 

“If I were an eighteen-year-old human I’d be somewhere drunk, waist-deep in someone’s delectable hole.” A wicked smile spreads across his pretty face. 

“Doing what you always do then?” 

“Yes. Exactly.” 

“I don’t know why I bothered asking you.” 

“And neither do I.” Viserys stands. “I don’t like the stench in this city so make it quick.” 

Rhaegar would love to make it quick because he, too, dislikes the stench in this city. But wooing a woman, especially a woman like his, takes time.

* * *

Everyone is gawking over Robert’s_ Ford Model T_, allowing Lyanna to slip away from her overbearing fiancé and his ever-wandering hands. He’s one of two people who have an automobile in the entire city. Everyone else is clinging to horse-drawn buggies. Here in Winterfell, they’re always a step behind the rest of the country. 

The pub is crawling with people, mostly university students; a rowdy bunch that’s loud and vulgar. Robert will fit right in with them even though he’s a man of twenty-nine. 

Lyanna sits down at one of the stools, gesturing to the barmaid. She orders gin for herself and opens a tab under Robert’s name since she’s only here because he promised to buy her a drink. Her initial plan was to stay home as she’s done every birthday since her sixteenth. 

With her father and older brother dead, her other brothers have their own families and affairs to tend to, leaving her in care of their family home and her ailing mother. 

Birthdays, much like other holidays, are never a cause for celebration in her home. Lyanna only came out tonight because her mother insisted that she spend more time with Robert. The woman is fond of him and thinks he’ll make a fine husband; his wealth and prestige in the city are his only redeeming qualities. 

What her mother doesn’t know or perhaps she does know but chooses to ignore, is that Robert is a womanizing oaf with shit for brains. Well, he isn't terrible to look at. He's tall, brawny, with a thick dark beard and bright blue eyes. She supposes that makes up for a few shortcomings. 

“There you are, Lya,” Robert says, plopping down in the stool beside her. He looks over the pretty strawberry-blonde barmaid. “I’m parched. Did you order for me?” 

She hates it when he calls her that. Only her brothers are allowed to call her that. She’s asked him not too many times to count and yet Robert does as Robert pleases. 

Lyanna shrugs.“I don’t know what you drink.” She does know what he drinks. She can usually smell it on his breath when he visits with her. 

Grunting, Robert waves the barmaid over and orders a pitcher and peanuts. He watches the woman walk off, her skirt switching something fierce. Lyanna sips on her gin, counting down the minutes. She’ll come up with an excuse to leave early. 

All she has to do is endure him for a little while longer. Actually, she’ll have to endure him for the rest of her life. The thought turns the supper she ate prior to coming here into stones in her stomach. 

Robert’s friends are there so at the very least she doesn’t have to engage him in conversation. Every time they talk he has to remind her of how he can’t wait to marry her; fuck her. And how he thinks of her often; thinks of fucking her. The truth of his words is always in his eyes. 

Lyanna scorns the day her brother Ned brought Robert to their home. The man was taken with her from the very start. Every time she rejected him he wanted her more. She would’ve continued to reject him had her mother’s health not declined. It’s Robert who pays the medical bills in exchange for her hand in marriage. 

She should be appreciative because without him she would still be stuck with three jobs. Now that she has more free time, she can care for her mother and make time for herself. Truth be told, she’d rather work double the jobs than being tied to a man like Robert. He hits women. 

He’s never hit her; he wouldn’t bloody dare. 

But she’s heard stories of him hitting women when they come forth with their bellies swollen with his child. Some of the women took the money he offered and skipped town. Others, the stubborn ones, tried to publicly oust him. 

And well, no one has ever heard from them again. 

She’s on her second glass of gin and Robert’s on his second pitcher when the university students invite Robert and his friends to a game of cards. While they play, Lyanna plans her escape. 

“A glass of Arbor gold, please.” 

As she’s bringing her glass up for sip, Lyanna glances up at the sound of the iron tone. She’s never heard an accent quite like that or a voice that’s low yet profound. The glass nearly slips out her hands when she locks eyes with the owner of said voice. Deep purple eyes greet her. 

Blinking, she returns her attention to her drink, staring at the little ripples in the liquid. She can still feel the man’s eyes on her, burning the skin of her face with their intensity. Don’t they know that staring is rude? That’s what she wants to ask them but she can’t find the words. They’re not even close to her and yet it feels as if they were standing right next to her. 

Lyanna abruptly stands, the stool’s legs scraping against the hardwood. Luckily, Robert’s booming laughter drowns out the sound. Leaving her glass on the counter, Lyanna finds the lady’s room. 

There is a group of women crowded around one sink, fluffing their hair and powdering their faces, gossiping and giggling. One of them is wearing a pretty shade of lip stain and Lyanna wishes she would’ve made the effort to do her face up. She combs her fingers through the ends of her hair that stop short of her hips and checks her face for any manageable flaws. 

Her cotton dress is navy with quarter-length sleeves and lace trimmings, rhinestones are interwoven in the bodice, and it sweeps the floor when she walks. It’s the nicest dress she owns; her mother forced her to wear it. She’s glad that she did. 

Then she wonders why she cares about any of this all of a sudden. Her appearance didn’t matter to her when she left the house with Robert. Why does it matter now? 

Sighing, she washes her hands for something to do. They’re still trembling a little. The man’s face enters her mind again, though, it never left. 

Lyanna has never seen a man so beautiful. He almost didn’t seem real. His hair was nearly as long as hers and the color of moonlight, fine brows, elegant cheekbones, and a full bottom lip. And his eyes…

“...Robert Baratheon, the mayor’s son?” one of the women is saying. “He’s the one who took you dancing? Isn’t he engaged?” 

“That didn’t stop him from stuffing his hand down my blouse and his head up my skirts.” The woman laughs and her friends join her. 

Lyanna leaves the restroom. 

“There she is!” Robert’s loud voice reaches her ears. “The birthday girl!” The pub erupts into cheers from people she recognizes but doesn’t really know. “Come here, Lya!” 

Before she can get a word out, Robert has her slung over his shoulder, lifting her high in the air as everyone sings a birthday song. He carries her around the room as though she were some trophy. Her face is crimson and heated from embarrassment. She’s never liked being in the spotlight this way. Over the heads, and waving hands, she sees him still seated at the bar, looking regal and bored. He seems to be irritated as well. 

Feeling flustered, Lyanna hits Robert’s shoulder. “Put me down!” 

Either he doesn’t hear her—he definitely hears her—or he ignores her. Robert doesn’t put her down until the song is over and when he does, she slaps him. Everyone around them laughs. Robert looks as if he wants to knock her teeth down her throat. Lyanna tilts her chin up at him, challenging him to try it. His face breaks out into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and he joins in the laughter. 

Lyanna storms off, leaving the pub and the laughter behind. 

Outside, the night air is crisp. She regrets leaving her coat once the cold settles in her bones. But she isn’t going back because Robert will think she went back for him. She even expects him to run after her, make some kind of effort to show her that he cares about her being hot with him. He doesn’t and he won’t. 

Perhaps she overreacted. No, the slap was well-deserved. Robert has been fucking everything with legs since she accepted his engagement as if he were trying to purge himself of his promiscuity. He won’t keep to her bed once they’re married, she knows it. 

At the very least, she wishes he were someone she could talk to and be happy with. Even if love was out of their reach. 

Hearing the sound of approaching hooves, Lyanna hugs herself and presses close to the passing shop fronts, clear away from the street. 

“Pardon me, miss.” 

Lyanna whips her head in the direction of the voice. It’s him. The man from the pub. He’s leaning out of the window as the horses come to a stop. 

“May I offer you a lift?” he asks. “It’s cold out and you’re without a coat.” 

This isn’t uncommon. Gentlemen are always offering rides to ladies. However, Lyanna declines. She’s engaged. It wouldn’t look good for an engaged woman to go riding around with other men. Of course, it’s fine for Robert to do as he pleases. No one is going to call him a whore and ridicule him. 

“Well, take my coat at least.” The man opens the door to the carriage and steps out. He’s tall, taller than she assumed. He towers over her. “And allow me to walk with you the rest of the way.” He begins to remove his coat. 

Lyanna stops him. “That won’t be necessary, sir.” She glances at the long road ahead. Her home is miles away. “If it isn’t too much trouble, I will accept the ride.” 

“No trouble at all.” The man offers his gloved hand. “Shall we?” 

A chill passes through her, goosebumps rise on her skin. She stares at his hand warily before taking it. His hold is strong yet delicate as he helps her into the cozy carriage. She gives him her street address and he conveys it to the coachman.

They sit across from one another. Lyanna tries not to stare at him, but it proves difficult. He’s not from around here, and his appearance isn’t the only indicator. She would’ve noticed a face like his by now in this small place where everyone knows everyone and no secrets exist. 

For a time, the only sound comes from the horseshoes hitting the cobblestone. She worries the entire ride will be that way when the man finally speaks. 

“I take it you aren’t a fan of birthday songs,” he says. 

Lyanna is reminded of the humiliating display at the pub. “Only when my drunk fiancé is lugging me around like a sack of potatoes.” 

He chuckles; like his voice it’s charming. “It would appear he wanted to show you off.” 

“Am I a shiny trophy?” she asks derisively. 

“I meant no offense, my lady.” 

Lyanna didn’t mean to take offense either. “My apologies. You were kind enough to offer me transportation. I shouldn’t be cross with you when you’ve done nothing.” 

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

“May I know the name of my knight?” she asks, in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

“Only if you promise to give me yours in return.” 

“Very well.” 

Oddly enough, Lyanna is excited as though they were playing a game or doing something daring, not something as simplistic as exchanging names. 

“Rhaegar. Rhaegar Targaryen.” 

He’s definitely not from around here. 

“Lyanna Stark.” 

Rhaegar smiles with a hint of sadness. “Lyanna.” The name rolls off his tongue, sounding better on his lips than it’s ever had on anyone else’s, this man she’s known for less than an hour. “Beautiful name.” 

“Yours as well. It’s very...unique.” She hopes she doesn’t sound like an idiot. “May I ask where you’re from? I assume you’re not from the city.” Or Westeros. 

“I’ve from many places. When you travel as often as I do, you tend to lose yourself in the cities and villages you pass through. So I suppose I’m from a bit of everywhere and nowhere at all.” 

“Is that your elaborate way of telling me to mind my business?” 

Rhaegar chuckles again, his whole face lighting up. “I’ve missed your...I’ve missed humor like yours.” He looks out the window, staring beyond the passing houses and iron gates. “Rarely am I in the company of humorous people.” 

“Sounds to me like you’re in need of better company.” 

He looks at her again, his eyes glittering like jewels. “Is that an invitation?” 

Lyanna doesn’t want to open any doors with this mysterious stranger because he’s well, he’s a stranger for starters. And she’s engaged to the mayor’s son. One word of her spending time with another man would give her a bad name and cause trouble for Rhaegar. For all she knows, he could be just as worse as Robert; she prays he isn’t. Even still, she doesn’t want to inconvenience him. 

“I doubt you’d want to spend your time with me. I’m as interesting as a feather pillow.” Out of the window, she can see them turning on her street. Relief and a bit of disappointment flood her. “A man of your...standing has no need for a woman like me as a friend.” 

“A woman like you?” he asks for clarification. 

The carriage stops in front of her house. 

“A taken woman,” she says, not meeting his gaze. 

The coachman opens the door and waits for her. She bows her head and thanks Rhaegar for his kindness. As she’s getting out, he takes her by the hand. 

“Happy Birthday, Lyanna.” He kisses her knuckles. “This was truly a pleasure.” 

Lyanna nods because that’s all she can do. The coachman helps her out of the carriage and sees her to the gate. She could’ve walked the short distance on her own with the way she ignores his presence entirely. Rhaegar watches her until she’s inside her home. She doesn’t see him do so, she feels it. 

Her knuckles tingle. Even throughout her shower and as she’s sitting at the vanity brushing her hair, she thinks of that unremarkable kiss.

* * *

Bright and early the next morning, far too early, Robert pays her a visit. Lyanna has to sit through her mother praising the man for getting her out of the house for her birthday as it’s been too long since, “Lyanna let her hair down and enjoyed her youth.” 

Robert grins and assures her mother that he only did what any good fiancé would. He breaks his fast with them, playing the part of an upstanding gentleman with the kind of ease that makes her wonder why it’s so hard for him to behave this way all the time. After she cleans up in the kitchen and her mother returns to her room, the real Robert arrives. 

“Are you out of your mind, Lya?” he asks hotly. “Making a scene like that in front of half the town and walking all the way home without your coat! Do you have any idea how that made me look?” 

“If you were that concerned about me why didn’t you take me home yourself?” And she doesn’t give a damn about his reputation taking a blow. “You didn’t seem to care so much when you were drunk on your ass!” 

Quickly, Robert raises his hand as though he’s going to hit her. But he drops it just as quickly. Reeling in his anger, he points a finger at her. “I came here to see about you but I see now that was a mistake. You’re never appreciative when I make an effort and when I don’t make one, you find fault with that as well. You’re a difficult woman.” 

“Then go marry that brunette you took dancing!” 

Lyanna clamps her mouth shut. She never wanted him to know she knew that. She never wanted him to think she cares about him enough to be jealous. 

Robert shakes his head. “Is that what this is about? You think I give a damn about her when I’m funding your mother’s recovery and openly claiming you as my woman?” 

She was wondering when he would bring up the medical expenses. He has to remind her of that at least once a week. She hates how he throws it in her face at every turn. And he acts as if it’s an honor to be recognized as Robert Baratheon’s prize. That’s all she is to him. She wants to say all that, she wants to kick him in his family’s jewels but she bites her tongue and contains herself. Only for her mother. 

“I...I’m sorry, Robert,” she says, the words resting bitterly on her tongue. “I overreacted. I heard about you with other women and I-” 

Robert hugs her and smoothes her hair down her back. “You have nothing to fear, Lya. My heart belongs to you.” 

But his body belongs to every cunt in town. 

With great reluctance, she returns his hug. When his hands drag down her back far too low for her liking and he kisses her face, she closes her eyes and thinks of all the places she’d rather be than here. She thinks of the carriage with its red velvet seats and leather ceiling, she thinks of indigo eyes and gentle lips. 

Robert never goes as far as kissing and groping. He knows he has to wait until they’re married for more than that. He leaves shortly afterward more than likely to find a woman to give him what he can’t have from her. Yet. 

Lyanna takes a bath and scrubs her skin until it hurts to rid herself of his scent, his touch. Then she gets dressed for her shift at the Glass Gardens; the city’s botanical garden. She works there as a receptionist who’ll sometimes give tours if they’re short on staff and the day is busy. 

Wednesdays are typically slow and today is no different. A young couple who appear to be high schoolers playing hooky and an elderly regular who used to come here with his wife are the only patrons for the first half of her shift. Throughout the day, more people trickle in. As the shift comes to an end, she passes the time sketching flowers and the faces of the people who come to buy a ticket. 

“You’re quite good.” 

Lyanna drops her pencil. Will she ever be able to control herself at the sound of his voice? 

Rhaegar is standing on the other side of her desk as handsome as he was last night. His long hair is tied with a black ribbon, his vest is burgundy with black paisley. Everything else from his long coat to his slacks is black. He touches the roses she was sketching with his gloved finger. 

“You were even able to capture the petal’s veins. Are you studying art?” 

“No. It’s only a hobby.” Lyanna tucks her hair behind her ear nervously. His eyes unsettle her. They make her feel exposed. “Can I assist you with anything?” 

“Ah, yes. I’ve come for a tour. I was told the botanical gardens are a must-see.” 

It’s strange that he’s here after she just saw him last night. But the gardens are one of the city’s highlights and tourists are known to visit before they leave. She thinks of it as a mere coincidence. 

Lyanna gives him the price for general admission and the additional fee for private tours. Rhaegar pays without complaint. He removes the crisp bills from his gold money clip and she tries not to stare at his face. He’s almost too handsome. 

Putting away her sketchbook, she steps around the desk, brushing out her tan skirt and white blouse; her standard uniform. 

The tour begins like any other tour. She tells him the history of the gardens, about the founder, and the various sponsors before they enter the actual gardens. To preserve the tropical plants, the temperature remains at the same heat. It’s stuffy and as the tour goes on, she begins to sweat and her skin flushes. 

Rhaegar appears unfazed, as pristine as he was when he walked through the doors. He’s a great listener and he asks the sorts of questions she enjoys answering, and he isn’t condescending like the other men who come here and try to tell her how she should conduct her tour. 

“Would you like to take a break for water?” Rhaegar asks. They’re in the back of the gardens now, surrounded by exotic plants. 

Lyanna touches her face with the back of her hand. Her hair is sticking to her skin. “No, I’m fine,” she says. She waits for him to return his attention to the plants before unbuttoning the top button of her blouse. 

They continue the tour. Despite her mild discomfort, she’s enjoying herself. He doesn’t seem bothered by her attention to every little detail or how she spends more time on certain plants in comparison to others. He even shares her passion for the various species housed in the gardens. 

If she wasn’t sweating profusely, she would consider this tour perfect. 

Rhaegar removes the ribbon from his hair. “Allow me,” he says, gathering up her hair, his fingertips brushing her neck. He ties her hair up with the ribbon. “We can end the tour here. You’ve shown me enough.” 

Lyanna is still reeling from his thoughtful actions. She turns her head and immediately regrets it. He’s standing so close, their faces mere inches apart. He brings his hand up to her face and she sucks in a shallow breath. 

He touches her forehead. “It’d be unfortunate if you fainted.” 

Lyanna shouldn’t allow him to touch her. She should put distance between them, draw a line and tell him not to dare cross it. She shouldn’t glance at his lips and wonder what it would be like if he were to kiss her. Would she close her eyes and clench her fist, praying for the moment to end soon? Or would she experience the fireworks all the knowledgeable ladies prattle about? 

“Yes, I think we should end the tour here,” she says. Clearing her throat, she steps away from him. “I can issue you a partial refund to compensate.” 

“There’s no need.” 

“You paid for a full tour, sir. I failed to deliver.” 

Rhaegar gives her a thoughtful look. “If you’re keen on making it up to me then have dinner with me.” 

Lyanna hates herself for wanting to accept his invitation. If the wrong person sees them, it’ll get back to Robert, and he won’t care about the circumstances. She also thinks dinner in exchange for an unfulfilled tour is a bit much. 

“Must I remind you that I am taken, sir?” 

“Are you married, miss?” 

“Not yet.” 

“Then legally you’re free to make your own choices and spend your time with whomever you like. If privacy is the issue, I have no problem inviting you to my home. Whatever arrangements you require, I will make them so.” 

Lyanna thinks he’s ridiculous yet she can’t mask her smile. “You’re that eager to have dinner with me?” 

“Very,” he says truthfully. “Do you accept?” 

“May I be frank?” 

“Always.” 

She’s beginning to wonder what kissing him would be like again. “My fiancé is very important in the city. He has friends and eyes everywhere. I do not want to think about what he would do to you if he discovered our involvement.” A pause. “Regardless of the nature of our...relationship, he won’t like it.” 

“I appreciate your transparency, Lyanna. Now does 7 work?” 

This isn’t a wise decision. In fact, she should’ve ended the conversation before it started. However, Robert isn’t the only one who wants to purge before he’s tied down for the rest of his life. 

“Yes, 7 works fine.”

* * *

After leaving the botanical gardens, Rhaegar purchases a two-story manor in the Old Money side of town; he compels the owner to take a holiday in Rome with his family. 

Slaughtering them all was an option but he’s ever mindful of the pesky hunters. Once the bodies begin to pile up they always pop up like clockwork. 

He doesn’t want them to interrupt his time with Lyanna.

“I think Arthur is dying,” Viserys says once Rhaegar returns to the suite. “Chaya died this morning. I think I overate.” He touches his lips, feigning remorse. “But I swear I haven’t touched Arthur!” 

Rhaegar enters his bedroom where Arthur is asleep in his bed. The man isn’t dying, he’s evolving. It would’ve been a pity to let someone as healthy and physically strong as Arthur die. So, he gave the man some of his blood and tinkered with a blood bond spell. 

“If things turn out well, Arthur will be the first of his kind,” Rhaegar says, petting the man’s head affectionately. “I haven’t decided on a name for what he’ll be yet but his strength will be close to our own and he’ll live as long as I will. Only time will tell what other attributes he’ll possess.” 

They’re fully capable of protecting themselves but it never hurts to have an immortal personal guard who will kill anyone on command. In truth, Rhaegar’s fondness of Arthur stems from a moment during his time as a human. Their father was a king, their mother his reluctant queen. When the rebellion reached the gates of their palace, there was a cry for their heads. Had it not been for a mystery knight who whisked them to safety they would’ve died with their father. 

_The Sword of the Morning_ is the only name the knight gave. Rhaegar had never heard of him or seen him which was odd because he knighted a great many men. He never forgot about the knight even in this new life. Although he never saw the man’s face, he caught glimpses of his eyes and skin through the slits in his helm. Arthur fits the image Rhaegar created in his head perfectly. 

Viserys leans on the door, his arms crossed. “Does Lyanna remember you yet?” he asks. 

Blinking, Rhaegar dispels the memories of a time he prefers not to linger on. “No.” 

“How will you make her remember?” 

Rhaegar moves away from the bed. “I doubt she will ever remember our past but I hope to tell her about it someday. She isn’t ready for the truth yet.” He leaves the room. 

Viserys follows him out. “When are you going to kill her fiancé? I’m surprised you haven’t killed him already. Are you pretending to be good?” He smirks devilishly. “Afraid Lyanna will find out about it and hate you forever?” 

Gods, the mere mention of the man makes Rhaegar’s blood boil. Of all the men in this city, she somehow ended up with one of the worst. 

A night of eavesdropping was enough for him to get the spill about Robert Baratheon whose only significant quality is that he’s the mayor’s son. One person even said that if Robert can’t fight it, fuck it, or drink it, that it bored him. Lyanna can’t possibly be interested in someone like that. And she isn’t by the looks of it. Perhaps their engagement is one of convenience. 

Lyanna is just as he remembered her. Beautiful, outspoken, funny, and charming in her own way. There’s iron beneath her delicate smiles and the ripeness of innocence in her blood. He nearly lost it at the gardens with the scent of her sweat and blood suffocating him. 

Restraint, as well as patience, is dire during a time such as this. Rhaegar’s fortunate that he’s level-headed; for the most part. 

“I won’t kill Robert.” 

Viserys sucks his teeth. “You’ve grown soft-” 

“I’ll compel one of his friends to do it. My hands will be clean of his blood.” 

His brother grins. “Very cunning of you, Rhaegar. The humans will have a murder case on their hands to distract them from the true monsters lurking in their city.” 

“Monsters?" He smiles coyly. "Is that what we are?” 

Yes, that’s exactly what they are. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jonerys story begins in chapter 6. As the tags say there is Viserys & Daenerys but it happens once. No love triangles.


	2. Overture II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: brief physical abuse

_ **Meereen - 1910** _

During Daenerys’s last visit, her brothers were with her. Back then they were inseparable, where there was one, the others weren’t far behind. 

Often she regrets leaving the way she did, regrets saying those awful things to Rhaegar. But she’s been heartbroken for centuries without Jacaerys. It’s a wonder she’s survived this long without being consumed by despair. Throwing a fit and splitting from the group are light in comparison to what Rhaegar did once his emotions got the better of him. 

She’s yet to wipe out a village in a single night so she supposes she’s well off. Soon, she always tells herself, soon she’ll enter a dark state and make Rhaegar’s plummet look like child’s play. To have a soulmate, a person utterly devoted to loving and cherishing you, and lose them is maddening. Especially for their kind who feel more deeply than one would think. 

A century has passed since she was last here and the city remains unchanged as though the sands of time passed over it. Dirt streets, mud houses and structures, fortified stone walls that stretch on for miles, and one of the world’s Six Wonders make up the bulk of Meereen. 

Here, they worship her as though she were a goddess. 

Daily offerings are left at the base of the pyramid for her; trinkets, figs and nuts, and flowers, sometimes jewelry. Occasionally, one of them will try to enter the pyramid for a closer look at the Silver Queen. Daenerys never allows it, however. Only the two she’s chosen to remain at her side and her food are allowed to see her up close. 

There was a time when she would’ve basked in the attention. She and Viserys were always wooing royals at balls and hosting lavish dinner parties where they would feed their guests before feeding on them. Rhaegar never judged or scolded; the perfect older brother. If he wasn’t in the mood, he’d simply remove himself. The few times he did join in with their fun was always the best. She loves it when they did things as a family. 

Not everyone here sings praises in her name. Truthfully, a majority of the city wants her head. 

She made the Great Pyramid her home five years ago. For three of those years, she lived undetected. Then one night, she had a small slip up. A mercenary by the name of Daario Naharis infiltrated the pyramid with his company of lowlives. They intended to sack the place, sell the shrine maidens from the lower level, and have their way with her handmaiden, Missandei. 

Daenerys was resting when she heard the women’s screams and rushed to their aid. She didn’t think before slaughtering all the men except for Daario. For him, she had a special surprise. She tortured him then hanged him from her balcony as a warning to anyone else who dared to trespass. 

Rumors began to spread like wildfire. The locals started to believe she was the living embodiment of the Harpy that was mounted on top of the pyramid, looming over the city with its daunting, golden appearance. Others began to refer to her as the Silver Queen and the Bride of Death. 

A lot of the Meereenese believe she is a demoness who steals babies from their cribs and drain them. Baby blood does intice her but she’s never killed a baby. She isn’t completely heartless. 

“My Queen,” Missandei says as she enters the chambers. She’s a young, slender girl of seventeen with dusky skin, long, chestnut curls, and honey eyes. And one of the few people who are aware of Dany’s true nature. “Your bath is ready.” 

Outside the door of her chambers, Grey Worm, another young human awaits them. He walks in front of them to the bathhouse. Her silent guard is brown-skinned, tall, and lean with dark brown eyes, his expression is ever stern and solemn. 

When she first arrived in the city, Grey Worm and Missandei were slaves. She isn’t sure why she felt inclined to free them. Perhaps she was lonely or perhaps seeing them being whipped in the streets for their master’s enjoyment disgusted her. As of late, she’s developed empathy she never had in this life. 

“Stay with me, Missandei,” Daenerys says as Grey Worm remains outside by the door.

She doesn’t require a guard or a handmaiden but after saving the two they had nowhere to go. Despite all of her protests and assurances, they took on these roles. It crossed her mind to compel them to do otherwise but they’ve been used all their lives. It would be unfair of her to control their actions and thoughts. Besides, she likes having them around. They don’t fill in for her brothers, no one can, but they keep her from slipping into darkness. 

Daenerys dips her hair in the hot, rose-scented water. She bathes because she likes it, not because she needs it. The bathhouse overlooks the indoor courtyard on the level below where she sleeps. Through the thick walls, she can hear the people in the streets shouting. 

“They’re still at it, I see,” Daenerys says, closing her eyes and resting her arms on the back of the large tub. “I’m not bothering anyone. Why do they want me gone?” 

So she slaughtered three dozen men and left their leader’s body out to rot and feed large birds for a week. She’s never gone out into the streets and terrorized the locals, and all her food comes from the wealthier parts of town—she feasts on slavers not the poor. Yet it is the poor who are demanding that she leave. 

“The people do as the masters say.” Missandei washes Dany’s hair with gentle hands. “They fear you because they are told they should fear you.” 

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not here to win their love or loyalty. I will leave soon.” 

Missandei’s hands still. 

“Do you want to come with me, Missandei? You and Grey Worm?” 

“Only if our queen wants us to.” 

“Yes, I do want you to. And I am no one’s queen.” 

Queens are good. They’re supposed to be anyway. Daenerys isn’t good. She gets her thrills from draining humans, killing anyone who upsets her, and playing people as though they were a chess game. The only reason why she isn’t doing any of that now is that she misses Jacaerys so much that she can’t stand it. 

Missandei combs her hair with an ivory comb as Daenerys continues to soak. “What was he like? Your true love?” 

“Beautiful and strong, fearless and cunning.” Daenerys smiles to herself. “Tender and loving. He was a half-blood, born of my brother and his human wife. They didn’t think they could procreate but we soon learned that we can achieve great feats with our mates.” 

“He was your...nephew?” 

Daenerys has to remind herself that these new-age humans in certain parts of the world view incest as a taboo. “We live by different rules,” is all she says in explanation. “Jacaerys’s vampiric traits were suppressed. He’d yet to drink blood, you see. I believe that’s why he died so easily.” 

He died right before her eyes. The fool tried to protect her, an immortal with skin as hard as diamond. She tries not to think of that day and how it all could’ve been avoided. They had no business getting tangled with the humans and their war. 

“I won’t hesitate to turn him this time,” Daenerys promises. “Nothing will keep us apart.” 

After her bath, she puts on a silk robe and stands on the balcony out of view of the people down below. They all look like ants beneath the moonlight. If she wanted she could crush them all in a matter of minutes and be done with it. But she doesn’t want any hunters to show up. They seem to always know when a bloodbath has occurred. It’s a wonder they didn’t show up after she killed the mercenaries. 

The first time they crossed paths with a hunter, they shot Viserys in the stomach with a silver bullet filled with crushed obsidian. Black, pulsing veins spread throughout her brother’s body rapidly, and they all experienced fear again. It'd been ages since anything truly scared them. Thank the gods they found a woods witch who knew how to save him. 

Each of them learned to make the cure with the use of their blood in case another hunter got the best of them. Daenerys wonders when and how the pesky hunters obtained all of their knowledge. They've killed every hunter they've encountered, leaving no witnesses to their carnage behind. 

Perhaps she’ll find the hunter’s lair during her next journey and set it aflame. 

She smiles to herself. Yes, she thinks she’ll do that.

Hearing the telltale sound of wings fluttering, she lifts her head to see a Raven perching on the ledge of the balcony. When it opens its mouth, Viserys’s voice speaks to her softly. 

“We’ve found Lyanna,” he says, and her heart swells. “Soon, sister. Soon you and Jacaerys will be reunited.” 

Daenerys knows it will take another two or three decades before Jacaerys is in her arms again but it brings her comfort knowing that she will have him in this lifetime. 

* * *

** _Winterfell- 1910_ **

“Another date with Robert?” her mother, Lyarra, asks excitedly. She’s leaning in the door of Lyanna’s bedroom watching her sort through the dresses in her closet. “Where is he taking you this time?” 

Keeping her eyes on the dresses, Lyanna makes a face that she wouldn’t dare show to her mother. Frail or not the woman is still the no-nonsense sort with a sharp tongue. Which is why it genuinely startles her that her mother seems so open to a man like Robert. They knew Robert before he put on the mask of the respectable son of the mayor. 

Her mother, like Lyanna, has overhead the kind of vulgar jokes the man used to loudly make. Perhaps losing a husband and a son softened her. It doesn’t hurt that Robert is keeping them afloat financially. 

“You should wear the lavender gown,” her mother says. “You want to look soft and feminine whatever the occasion.” 

Any other time, the words ‘soft’ and ‘feminine’ would’ve made Lyanna want to vomit. But she can’t deny that that’s what she’s going for. She wants Rhaegar to look at her and see a woman. She isn’t sure why she wants that. She isn’t sure what that exactly means, either. 

“The lavender gown is old,” Lyanna says, turning around to face her mother. “Old and worn like all of my gowns.” 

Her mother enters her room, picking up the camisole Lyanna was too lazy to pick up earlier. Folding it, she places it on the bed neatly. Lyarra keeps her long, brown hair pinned up. Her eyes are the color of green moss and Lyanna has often wished she had her eyes instead. Due to her mother's sickness, her cheeks are hollow, her skin pale. But in her youth, she was quite the beauty. 

Lyanna steps aside and allows her mother to look for a dress. She still hasn’t told the woman that her_ date_ is with a man she just met and not her fiancé, and she doesn’t intend to tell her. Her mother will surely disapprove. 

“You’ve never worn this one.” Her mother takes out a cream semi-formal gown with champagne crystals dangling from the skirts. There are rhinestones threaded in the bodice as well as the sleeves. It’s very pretty. “Does it fit the occasion? Do tell me what the occasion is.” 

“Dinner,” she says and that’s all she’ll give. She takes the dress. “Thank you. This will work just fine.” 

“You need gloves and perhaps a good pair of earrings. Give me a moment.” 

“Oh, mother, don’t.” 

But her mother is already out of the room to fetch whatever it is that she thinks Lyanna is missing. Sighing, Lyanna stares at the dress and tries to picture herself in it. Needless to say, she’s very nervous about tonight. More nervous than she’s ever been where Robert is concerned. It’s worrying, to say the least. Rhaegar appeared out of thin air. She hardly knows the man and yet he has in her tizzy. What could this mean? 

“Here we are,” her mother says as she walks into the room carrying a blue velvet jewelry box. “I wanted to wait to give these to you on your wedding day.” 

Lyanna lays her dress on the bed and accepts the offered box. “Are these what I think they are?” 

“Open and see.” 

They are exactly what she assumed; her mother’s sapphire earrings, the very ones she wore on her wedding day. Lyanna doesn’t consider herself the sentimental type but her eyes water nonetheless. The earrings are more than an accessory or a family heirloom. They signal her entry into womanhood. She’ll be married in a fortnight, and soon her life will mirror that of her mother’s life when her father was alive. Except that, Lyanna won’t be happy or content. 

“Don’t cry, Lyanna.” Her mother hugs her and kisses her temple. “Or you’ll make me cry.” 

Sniffling, Lyanna closes the box and hugs her mother. “I’m not crying,” she says, lying. I need to dust my room.” Closing her eyes tightly, she takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t want to marry him, Mother,” she whispers. 

Lyarra rubs her back. “I know you’re scared, Lyanna. But it’ll be fine. Robert is a good man and he loves you so much.” She kisses her temple again. 

Bitterness settles hot in her belly. Lyanna should’ve known better. Her mother is no longer the proud woman who won over the coldhearted Rickard Stark. Time and sickness have defeated her. 

“Thank you, Mother,” Lyanna says, masking the anger in her voice. “I would like to lie down before dinner.” 

“Get your beauty rest, dear. Robert will want to marry you tonight once he sees you.” 

When her mother is gone, Lyanna lays on her bed and stares at the paneled ceiling. She wonders if Rhaegar will want to marry her once he sees her. Then she dismisses the thought.

Fantasizing is fun; it’s safe. But she sees no point in filling her head with pretty possibilities.

* * *

At seven on the dot, Rhaegar’s carriage comes for her.

Lyanna is both pleased and disappointed to find it empty. She hoped they would ride to his home together. However, she is glad she has time to calm her nerves. 

In the end, her attire for the evening came along nicely. The dress’s neckline is cut lower than she’s accustomed to, but she supposes that’s fine. She even curled her hair and styled it in an updo. The earrings complement her handsomely, as well. Under the gloves, her palms are sweaty and it feels as though ants are crawling beneath her skin. Several times she has to stop herself from wringing her hands in her dress. 

The ride is long. They seem to have traveled to the outskirts of the city to a neighborhood she isn’t familiar with. She sees the mansions, their grandeur, and begins to wonder if perhaps Rhaegar is a member of the Elites. Elites are those born of old money. They tend to keep to themselves, hidden away in their grand homes. That would explain why she’s never seen him. Despite being the mayor’s son, Robert and his family are new money and are viewed as less than those whose family’s whose wealth stretches on for centuries. 

Lyanna is certain Rhaegar is an Elite when the mansions are replaced with acres and acres of empty land and the carriage turns down a cobblestone road that’s surrounded by trees. A home without any nearby neighbors is a clear sign of wealth. 

The carriage pulls into the courtyard of a gothic manor with grey brick and pitch-black shillings that stand out against the night sky. As mesmerizing as the manor is, seeing Rhaegar standing in front of the large, arched doors in a dinner tuxedo grabs her attention and holds it. He opens the door to the carriage and helps her down. 

“I hope the journey went swell,” he says as the carriage rides away. 

“It did.” Lyanna looks up at the many windows, noting how dark the inside appears. “Do you live alone?” 

“My brother is out for the night.” 

Inside, the manor is splendid, as one would expect, and awfully quiet. One of the walls in the den is completely covered in artwork in frames of various shapes and sizes. There are no portraits. Not a single one of Rhaegar or anyone who may be his family. 

Marble statues and potted ferns grace the long corridor. In the dining room, the table is set with silver utensils and porcelain plates and bowls. Lit candles are lined down the middle of the table, giving the room a warm glow. There’s enough food to feed a small infantry. 

“I know it’s much,” Rhaegar says. He pulls a chair back for her and she sits. “But I wanted to make sure you had options.” Once she’s seated, he sits at the head of the table beside her. “The staff has the night off, you see.” 

“That explains why it’s so quiet.” 

“Ah.” Rhaegar quickly stands. “I’ll put a record on.” 

Lyanna watches him exit out the arched doorway. Soon, the silence is replaced with Bach. Rhaegar returns and takes his seat. 

“Can I interest you in any wine?”

“Please.” 

While he pours, Lyanna stares at his hands. He isn’t wearing any gloves. His hands are big, his fingers slender, his nails longer than most men but very neat and clean. Like him, his hands are beautiful. 

“Do you play any instruments, sir?” she asks. 

“Rhaegar,” he says, setting the wine decanter down. “You may call me Rhaegar. And I play many instruments. I prefer the harp. Why do you ask?” 

“Your hands. You have an artist's hands.” 

“As do you.” 

Lyanna blinks and looks away from, realizing too late that she’d been staring directly at him during their entire exchange. She takes a sip of wine, feeling thankful for the dim light as she’s sure she’s blushing scarlet. Rhaegar offers her different food and she tries all of it. 

“Are you going to eat anything or will you watch me all night?” She laughs. 

“Do you have a problem with me watching you?” 

Lyanna swallows down her laughter. The candlelight makes his skin glow and his eyes seem to sparkle as well. Even the music feeds the romantic atmosphere. They’re also alone; a fact that has been at the forefront of her mind since he confirmed it. 

“Only if you eat while you do it,” she says. “I wouldn’t want you to starve.” 

Rhaegar smiles coyly. “I can assure you I won’t starve. Besides, I spoiled my appetite by eating a big meal earlier.” 

For some reason, she senses that there’s more to his words. Before she can linger on it, Rhaegar is offering her more food and wine. She lets him fill her glass and her plate. The food is very tasty, the wine sweet and a little tangy. She almost forgets about her conversation with her mother today, her upcoming wedding, and how unfair her life has been ever since her father and brother died. She's the most content she's been in years. 

“My brother and I are here on business,” Rhaegar is telling her while she nibbles on a lemon tart. “I must admit that I’m renting this manor.” 

So his visit will be a short one. Lyanna loses her appetite, though, she isn’t sure why. She’s engaged. It doesn’t matter if Rhaegar will be here for days, weeks, or years. She’s still unavailable. 

“Do you travel often, Rhaegar?” She says his name because he told her she could and because she likes the way he looks whenever she says it; as if a prayer has been answered. 

“I do. You?” 

“I’ve never traveled outside of Winterfell.” 

“Is traveling something you would like to do?” 

“Oh, yes. I just…” Lyanna doesn’t want to overshare about her family’s financial situation. Men tend to not care, for starters, and she doesn’t want to somber the mood. “The lemon tarts are delicious. You should try one.” 

Rhaegar glances at her plate. “May I have a bite of yours?” He leans forward. 

Nervously, Lyanna picks up her fork. She gathers a small portion and offers it to him. Her breath hitches when he opens his mouth and eats the morsel. He watches her while he chews. 

“Thoughts?” she asks, her voice sounding small. 

“It’s very tart,” he says, savoring it. “There’s a hint of sweetness beneath that, however.” 

Lyanna doesn’t think the ‘sweetness’ is in reference to the fact that she ate from this same fork, but something tells her that that is what Rhaegar is suggesting. Although she’s had more than enough to eat and her appetite was lost only moments ago, she takes another bite of the tart. 

“Ah, yes, there is a hint of sweetness,” she says, smiling. 

Rhaegar returns the smile. 

They fall into another conversation about work, hobbies, and other interests. Rhaegar’s family is wealthy, though, she doesn’t learn how they earned their wealth. He has a passion for music and has composed songs before.

“Would you like to hear a piece?” Rhaegar asks. “I can play it for you. On the record play, if you’d like.” 

“I would love to hear your music.” 

“If it’s dreadful please spare me. I am a sensitive man,” he chuckles. 

Lyanna laughs. “I have faith in you.” 

Rhaegar steps out of the dining room. Quickly, she pats her hair and smooths down her dress. She prays there isn’t any food in her teeth or stains on her dress. She was eating and talking so much that- 

Her train of thought is interrupted with the sound of a hauntingly beautiful tune filling the room. An image flashes in her mind of indigo eyes filled with tears, a gown covered in blood, and blue rose petals scattered in the wind. Closing her eyes, she tries to hold on to the image to further dissect it. Is it a memory? Or a melancholic thought conjured by the music? Lyanna can’t tell. 

When she opens her eyes, a single tear rolls down her cheek.

Rhaegar is standing beside her. 

“I-I’m sorry,” she says, laughing anxiously. “I don't know what came over me.” 

He extends his hand. “May I?” he asks. 

Lyanna looks at his hand then at his face. Dancing is the last thing she wants to do yet she takes his hand anyway. Rhaegar clasps her hand firmly while his other hand presses her close to him. He leads the dance because her legs are useless and so is the rest of her. She doesn’t understand what’s happening, doesn’t understand why the music makes her want to cry in his arms and beg him to never leave. But it does. 

They dance throughout the dining room, spinning into the connected kitchen, and back into the dining room. Lyanna can swear Rhaegar’s eyes glow at one point, a bright purple, but it could be the lighting. Again, an image fills her mind. This time she sees herself dancing with Rhaegar like this but they’re in a ballroom surrounded by people who are dressed in strange clothing.

Rhaegar spins her again and the image disappears. 

Blinking rapidly, Lyanna lays her head on his chest. “What’s happening to me?” she asks quietly. 

Rhaegar stops. “What do you mean, Lyanna?” He cups her chin and lifts her face. 

“I...I’m sad but I don’t know why.” That isn’t completely true. She has a lot of reasons to be sad. But not at this moment. Not when she’s with him. 

“Do I make you sad?” 

“No,” she says quickly. “No, you make me wish for more than I deserve, but you don’t make me sad.” 

Tell me,” Rhaegar says, still cupping her chin. He rubs her face with his thumb. “What do you wish for?” 

A lot of things. She wishes she could control time, wishes she could linger in this moment with him longer. Because once this night is over she won’t be able to see him again. It would do her no good. The more time she spends with Rhaegar, the more ideas fill her head. What she truly wishes is that she didn't have to marry Robert Baratheon. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, lowering her gaze. “You and I can’t change fate.” 

“Perhaps not.” Rhaegar lifts her face again, smoothing his thumb over her lower lip, his expression contemplative. “We can tinker with it, however.” 

He kisses her. Lyanna lets him. In fact, she encourages him to by pressing her body closer to his and putting her fingers in his hair like she’s been dying to do all night. Since he’s a gentleman she assumed he would kiss her gently, exclude his tongue, and keep his hands above the waist. She’s pleasantly surprised when Rhaegar kisses her in a non-gentlemanly fashion. He kisses her as though he were starving, but not in the way that makes her want to close her eyes and pray for it to end. 

This is what the experienced ladies are always talking about. The fireworks, the prickling of their skin, and the fire in their loins—she experiences all of that during their kiss and so much more. She’s breathless and dizzy by the end of it. Her lips are red and swollen. 

Rhaegar pulls away, takes one look at her, and swears. She’s never heard “fuck” uttered so elegantly. He picks her up and carries her to the den. Dazedly, she stares at his face, amazed by his existence. They’ve known one another for—Gods, only a day and she wants to give him what Robert has been after since he laid eyes on her. 

“Rhaegar,” she whispers when he lays her on the sofa and gets on top of her. “Rhaegar,” she gasps when he peppers kisses on her neck and cleavage.

“Yes, Lyanna?” he asks. He stops himself and looks at her with lust in his eyes. 

The potency of it should scare her. She’s never liked when men looked at her like that in the past. But with Rhaegar it’s different. There’s more than just lust in his gaze, and she wants him, she realizes. Not for this one night of freedom or for a fortnight. She wants him forever. 

That’s when the spell is broken. When she comes to that realization. 

Lyanna sits up on her elbows. “I believe the wine got the better of me,” she says, lying through her teeth. Her actions were fully her own. “Will you forgive my unladylike behavior? I assure you I’m not that kind of woman.” 

“I never assumed you were.” Rhaegar searches her face. “I made you uncomfortable. I apologize.” 

“I’m not uncomfortable. I didn’t mind your actions. However, I remain a taken woman.” 

“Your hand in marriage may be taken but your heart isn’t, Lyanna.” 

Lyanna laughs humorlessly. “How can you be so sure? For all you know I’m madly in love with my fiancé and this is nothing more than a cheap thrill before my wedding.” 

She waits for him to call her a liar so that she’ll have a reason to be upset with him and have a reason to leave. If she stays any longer she fears she’ll be unable to resist him or ignore her own desires. 

Rhaegar kisses her briefly. “If you prefer it that way we can pretend that this is only a cheap thrill.” 

He kisses her again, ardently this time and she loses the fight. Had he tried to take it further than that, she would’ve let him. It’s a shameful thing to admit, she knows. Her virtue is meant for her husband as she’s been led to believe all of her life. But in her heart, she disagrees.

She can tell that Rhaegar is warring with himself. He wants her badly. It’s in his eyes, his touch, and his groin. When Lyanna feels his hardness against her, she stiffens. Not out of fear or disgust, but from shock at how much she wants him inside of her. 

“We should stop,” Rhaegar says, his expression unreadable yet there's a fire in his eyes that almost scares her. 

If she continues to stoke the flame she'll get burned, is what his eyes are telling her. 

Lyanna nods. "Yes, we should." 

This is for the better. 

After gathering themselves and fixing their appearances, Rhaegar takes her home. She sits beside him in the carriage. When he asks her what she thought of his music, she’s reminded of the visions she saw. 

“It was simply beautiful though very sad. May I ask who it was written for?” A piece like that was definitely written for a loved one. 

“For someone I knew a long time ago,” he says. 

Lyanna doesn’t meddle any further, worrying she wouldn’t be happy with the details. He has to love the person deeply to compose a song like that. What would it be like to be loved by a man like Rhaegar? She knows that he is interested in her but she doesn't believe for a second that he's in love with her. 

When they reach her house, Rhaegar insists on walking her to the door. She allows it. Only because she wants to spend every second with him before the night ends. Once they’re at her door, Rhaegar is kissing her and pressing her back against the door. She returns the kiss just as passionately, caressing his broad back and moaning into his mouth. She almost invites him in but stops herself. 

“Can I see you again soon?” he asks, kissing her cheek and collarbone. 

Only a moment ago Lyanna was certain she would end all communication with him. How quickly his kisses make her forget herself and her obligations. 

“Yes,” she says. “My shift ends at three tomorrow. Wait for me in the park across the street.” 

“I’ll be there,” he promises with a kiss. 

Lyanna hurries inside before she makes any more plans with him. 

* * *

Throughout her shift at the Botanical Gardens the next day, Lyanna thinks about her night with Rhaegar, mainly the kissing and conversations they had. 

Last night, she dreamed that they were dancing in the ballroom together again except for this time, all of the people were dead and Rhaegar’s mouth was bloody. Strangest of all was that when he leaned in to kiss her she didn’t pull away from him. 

Nightmares are common for her, truthfully.

As a child, she would dream of her adult self dying brutally. It was the same dream every other night, and she died the same horrific way. Other nights she dreamed of being held by a faceless man with a kind voice. If it weren't for her dreams of him she would’ve dreaded falling asleep. With time, the nightmares came less and less. Needless to say, she’s grown accustomed to strange dreams. 

As for the odd visions she had while at Rhaegar’s manor, she has no explanation for them. Perhaps she’ll mention it to him today when they meet. 

Lyanna smiles to herself. She’s anxiously awaiting their meeting. 

“Lyanna, your fiancé is here to see you,” one of the doormen informs her. “He’s outside.” 

Why is Robert here? Well, he’s popped in on her before. Sometimes he brings her lunch or comes to ask her out on a date. She assumes he’s here for one or the other. Reluctantly, she puts a sign on her desk that indicates she’ll be gone shortly. Then she heads outside. 

Robert is waiting for her by his car in the ‘employee only’ parking lot. His face is red and furious. At the sight of her, he storms toward her. Lyanna is genuinely surprised by the slap. She has fast reflexes and some would even say her instincts are sharp when it comes to these sorts of things. However, the man surprises her with the backhand slap. She falls to her knees, holding her bleeding lip. 

“You fucking whore!” he spats. “How dare you shame me! Me! The man who’s keeping your mother alive!” He grabs her by the hair, lifting her head, forcing her to look at him. “I saw you with him so don’t you dare deny it!” 

Lyanna yanks away from him. “Let me go!” she demands hotly. “I don’t care how pissed you are! Let me go, you bastard!” 

Robert lets her go. When he does, she scrambles to her feet. A small crowd is watching but none of them will dare intervene. Her face burns hot with anger and embarrassment. He has no right hitting and yelling at her. Gods, how did he find out? Did he see them when Rhaegar took her home? No, had he seen them he would’ve approached them, would’ve killed Rhaegar and her. 

“Did you fuck him?” Robert asks. “I asked you a bloody question!” 

Lyanna balls her fist. “I heard you! The whole city heard you! When you’re ready to have a decent conversation then I will answer your bloody question!” 

Suddenly, one of Robert’s friends, Barry, walks up carrying a bat.

Lyanna’s heart drops to her stomach. She knows Robert has a reputation for being involved with shady people, but she never thought he would allow one of his thugs to hurt her. For the first time since she’s known him, she’s genuinely terrified of Robert. Rhaegar’s face flashes in her mind. Oh how she wishes he were here. 

“Barry?” Robert asks, confusion all over his face. “What the hell are you-” 

Lyanna covers her mouth. Barry hits Robert in the face with the bat, knocking the man on the ground. Without a word, he hits Robert again and again, blood gushing from a gash in the man's head. The sound of bones cracking rings in the air. 

“Barry! What are you doing?!” Lyanna screams in shock. “Stop it! You’ll kill him!” 

And that appears to be Barry’s aim. 

He’s a hefty fellow with large arms and a powerful swing. He brings the bat down another time and Lyanna swears she sees teeth flying. The men who stood by while Robert slapped her seem to find their legs again. They pull Barry off of Robert and take the bat away. Even then, Barry fights his way back to Robert. Noticeably, there isn’t any rage in his eyes or on his face. He fights them with an empty expression; a dead expression. 

Soon she can hear police whistles in the distance and cries for immediate help. Lyanna stands over Robert, utterly in shock over the events. The man was twitching when Barry was clubbing him with the bat but now his body is still. As the police are restraining Barry and Robert is being lifted into an ambulance buggy, Lyanna is reminded of the wish she had last night. She wished she didn’t have to marry Robert, that somehow their engagement would be called off. 

She supposes she got her wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love a good dramatic scene. Thanks for reading!


	3. Overture III

_ **Winterfell- 1910 ** _

It was quite a spectacle, watching Robert being clubbed to death by one of his closest friends while a crowd looked on. 

Viserys would say he enjoyed it from start to finish had the start of it not set his teeth on edge. Seeing Lyanna take a hit like that brought him no joy, not in the slightest. There was a time when she was his dear sister-in-law. They went riding together, sparred with swords together, and wreaked harmless havoc together. 

The fondness he had for her past self lingers it would seem. Barry’s appearance was perfectly timed. Had he come a second later, Viserys would’ve intervened and ripped Robert’s spine out, and well, that would have ruined Rhaegar’s perfectly crafted plan. 

Barry wasn’t chosen at random. During Rhaegar’s eavesdropping he learned that last year, Robert impregnated Barry’s younger sister; a girl of sixteen. Because of Robert’s unwillingness to acknowledge his role in the babe’s conception or fund an operation to have the pregnancy terminated, Barry’s little sister found a back-alley doctor to assist her. 

She died from an infection days later. To pacify her parents, Robert reluctantly paid for the funeral. Barry has held a grudge since but he hid it well, knowing that if Robert caught a whiff of any ill-intent he’d have him taken care of. 

Rhaegar said he barely used any energy compelling Barry. His mind easily bent to the command. 

“If you ask me,” a passing bald man is saying to a group of men, “Barry used his bat on the wrong person. That Stark bitch’s a mouthy one. Always has been. She’s the bitch version of Brandon, I tell ya!” 

Viserys watches the men pass, a devilish smile on his face. He silently follows them to a pub up the street. His brother isn’t here to defend Lyanna’s honor so he’ll have to do it. Honestly, he’s dying for a bit of fun, too. 

The men sit in the back, drinking and laughing, the same bald man is going on and on about how he wanted to see Lyanna take a bat to the face. His friends laugh harder and they’re having a jolly good time. Eventually, the bald man’s bladder is full. Viserys can hear the uncomfortable shifting from where he’s seated at the bar. The single men’s room is occupied so Baldy steps out into the alley to piss. 

No one notices Viserys leave the bar just as no one noticed him enter. As striking as his features are, he can blend in if he tries. The man is shaking the excess piss from his cock and singing under his breath when Viserys walks up behind him. As soon as the man turns around, Viserys nails morph into claws and he rakes them across the man’s stomach, splitting it open. 

He puts his bloody hand over the man’s mouth to muffle his screams. 

“You’re not so funny now with your entrails hanging from your stomach,” Viserys says. 

The man dies rather quickly. He must remind himself of how frail humans are. And now he has a new problem on his hands. How will he hide the body? 

Viserys looks around at the brick walls enclosing the alley and sees a worn sign with half the lettering covered in rust. There’s a drawing of a pig in an apron. Smiling to himself, he carries the body down the alley to the back door of the butchery. 

Convincing the butcher to add a new special to the menu is a simple task. He even offers a few flaying pointers and suggests rosemary as a way to liven the taste of the meat. Then he’s on his way. 

At their suite, Rhaegar is in the same spot he’s been in since he returned from his night with Lyanna; in bed with Arthur lying beside him. 

As someone who has never had a soulmate to lose in the first place, Viserys was curious to know what it was like to lose one’s other half. His brother once described it as having his vital organs removed. He said he was an empty vessel stumbling through life aimlessly. 

Of course, Viserys saw it as Rhaegar being Rhaegar; his brother is known to have a flair for the dramatic. But then when he asked Daenerys the same question her response was similar. 

Despite spending time with Lyanna, Rhaegar has yet to reunite with her, meaning the absence of her is still felt. That’s where Arthur comes in. From what Viserys knows, his brother hasn’t bedded the man. He simply sleeps beside him for comfort. It makes Viserys wonder who sleeps beside Dany. Who comforts her when loneliness settles in? He begged her not to go off on her own in fear that she would slip into a dark state. He offered to accompany her but Dany wanted to be alone. 

“Everything went according to your plan,” Viserys says. He leans against the threshold, his arms crossed. “Robert Baratheon is dead.”

Rhaegar doesn’t blink or make any sign to show he’s listening. His eyes are staring off into a random corner in the room, and Arthur is blinking up at the ceiling. The man doesn’t speak. They fear he might’ve lost his voice during his transformation. 

“There were eyewitnesses as well,” he continues, knowing that Rhaegar is, in fact, listening. “All of them saw Barry bash Robert’s head in like a melon. They also saw Robert slap Lyanna-” 

Ah, that does it. 

Rhaegar is already out of bed, his clothes wrinkled and his hair unkempt. “I must go to her.” 

“Gods, Rhaegar, she didn’t shatter into a million pieces. Honestly, I thought she was going to return the slap.” The old Lyanna would’ve. Perhaps this Robert fellow frightened her. It doesn’t matter now, he supposes. “You shouldn’t go to her so soon. Besides, they took her to the police station for procedural questioning.” 

Rhaegar swears quietly. It’s such a rare treat hearing Rhaegar swear. Viserys considers himself lucky.

“You are right,” Rhaegar says, tiredly. He runs his hands over his face and sighs. “I nearly lost myself last night. You can’t know how badly I want her, Viserys. “ 

Another rare treat is hearing the words “you are right” from his know-it-all brother.

“How can I not when it’s all over your face?” Viserys says. “Is Arthur only here for snuggling? Fuck him until you get to fuck Lyanna.” 

Arthur looks at Viserys then he looks at Rhaegar with an expectant expression. It’s a subtle action but Viserys catches it. So, the man understands what they’re saying which means he’s been mentally aware during Rhaegar’s nightly rambles. 

How interesting. 

Also, it goes to show how absorbed with Lyanna Rhaegar is if he’s overlooking the things that Viserys is catching. 

Rhaegar cuts him a look. “It isn’t about...fucking. It’s about...about being one with her, and binding our souls-” 

“Yes, yes, but fucking is an important aspect of it. You can dress it up in flowery garb all you like. The truth remains the same. You’re dying to fuck Lyanna. She’s a virgin too. I know you’re delighted to taste her first.” 

“You will understand when you find your mate,” Rhaegar says in a tone that suggests he’s too exhausted to deal with any shit right now. 

How unfortunate; Viserys wanted to see his brother get angry. 

“The stars never aligned for me," he says. "I don’t have a mate. I will never have one.” Only his family will ever love him truly. It’s been that way since their mother made them what they are. 

“Your time will come.” 

Viserys doubts that, and he’s fine with it. 

* * *

They questioned Lyanna for hours before she was allowed to go home. When she made it there her mother was waiting for her in the living room with tears in her eyes as though it were her fiancé that was bashed atop the head with a bat while she watched. Word travels fast in this city so it isn't surprising that her mother already knew. 

Ever the dutiful daughter, Lyanna held her mother as the woman sobbed and mourned “poor Robert.” During the whole ordeal, Lyanna felt empty and unremorseful. Cold. She felt cold. Every time she licks the seam of her upper lip she’s reminded of Robert’s slap. Had Barry not come along there’s no telling what Robert would’ve done to her. 

The police didn’t care much about that part of her story. She was asked to explain the events at least four times, and every time they barely batted an eye at the part where Robert hit her. In truth, she’s unsure why she expected anyone to care about that. In the eyes of the law, she was Robert’s property and a man can do what he likes with his property. 

“Do not fret, Lyanna,” her mother says, sniffling, “you are still very young and beautiful...a maid as well.” She holds Lyanna by the shoulders and looks at her closely. “Even if you and Robert had premarital-”

“Mother, please!” 

Lyarra squeezes her arms in what she believes is a comforting gesture. “It is fine dear. You don’t have to tell me. You are still an eligible woman, is what I mean to say. Other men will seek your hand in marriage.” 

Robert hasn’t even been buried and the woman is thinking about that. Well, Lyanna supposes it’s a good thing her mother’s fondness for Robert only extended to his pocketbook. 

“After what happened with Robert I doubt any man in this city will want me. They’ll think I’m cursed.” Too many superstitious folks around these parts. “Marriage is the least of my concern, Mother. I-”

There’s a knock at their door. 

Lyarra is up first. “Is it time for the circus already?” her mother asks as she smooths out her skirts. “Allow me to deal with them.” 

Lyanna hoped their “friends” would wait until tomorrow to drop in with their condolences and snooping but it appears that was wishful thinking. Her mother is hardly in a condition to visit with them all so she leaves the living room to assist her. When her father and Brandon died there was a visitor on their doorstep at every hour. Gods willing, it won’t be as bad this time since she was only Robert’s fiancé. 

“Oh, well hello!” She can hear her mother saying in an uncharacteristically high-pitched voice. 

Then Lyanna hears a familiar iron tone asking after her and she understands her mother’s change in voice. Any woman would react that way to seeing Rhaegar for the first time. 

As she’s stepping out into the hallway, she sees him in the doorway removing his top hat, looking quite dashing as usual. Their eyes meet and the cold in her bones disappears, leaving warmth in its wake. 

Lyarra is speechless. It’s a comical sight, too. She’s standing there with her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide as porcelain saucers. Stepping around the stunned women, Lyanna gives Rhaegar a curious smile.

“Forgive me for dropping in unannounced,” Rhaegar says, his eyes sincere. “I’ve come to offer my condolences.” He shows them the bouquet of lilies he was hiding behind his back. 

It’s then that her mother snaps out of her trance. 

“Oh, what lovely flowers! Very kind of you, sir.” She gives Lyanna a coy smile as she accepts the flowers. “I will put these in water. Please do come in!” 

Lyarra heads to the kitchen, sniffing the flowers and smiling to herself as she goes. The woman is going to question her more than the officers did earlier, Lyanna is sure of it. Rhaegar apologizes again for dropping in unannounced and expresses how worried he was when she didn’t show for their agreed-upon meeting at the park across from the Botanical gardens then he explains how he overheard what occurred with Robert from passing gossipers. 

Throughout his explanation, Lyanna thinks about how during the whole ordeal he was the only person she wanted to be there with her. Perhaps that is why she hugs him mid-explanation. The day had been taxing, emotionally and physically, and she felt as if no one cared about how any of this has impacted her. She wants to cry; she wants to scream. But she has to remain strong, she always has to be so damn strong and willful. This is the only show of weakness she will allow herself. 

Rhaegar returns her hug without hesitation, caging her in his strong arms. “I’ve heard troubling things, Lyanna,” he says. “I wanted to ensure you were fine.” 

“Did you hear that I’m a whore who shamed my poor fiancé?” she asks, her voice laced with sarcasm. 

“I heard that your wretched fiancé struck you.” Rhaegar cups her chin and raises her face to see her better. “I see that much is true.” 

Aside from the cut lip, there’s a small bruise on her cheek. She can only imagine how frazzled she looks. Having his eyes on her like this makes her want to hide from him. But Rhaegar won’t allow her. He rubs the cut with his thumb, a silent fury in his gaze. 

“Did he hit you often?” he asks. 

Lyanna shakes her head. “It was his first time.” 

“And thankfully his last.” Rhaegar lowers his head, and for a brief moment, she assumes he’s going to kiss her. Then he whispers, “Am I shameful for admitting that I wish he would’ve died by my hands for what he did to you?” 

Yes, he is shameful. At least, that’s how a proper lady should respond. In fact, his confession should anger Lyanna, she should slap him and demand he apologize for such a callous remark. She does no such thing. She’s happy Rhaegar said it, to be truthful. Because it opens the door for her to say what she’s wanted to say for hours now. 

“Can I tell you a secret, Rhaegar?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder to make sure her mother isn’t peeking around the corner. 

Rhaegar nods. He’s intrigued. 

“I never wanted to marry Robert and...I’m not terribly sad that he’s dead. It’s tragic and sudden but I'm finally free of him.” 

Lyanna regrets her words immediately. She worries revealing such a thing will make her unattractive in Rhaegar’s eyes. Women are supposed to be caring and forgiving even to men they never loved and were mistreated by. 

“I suppose that makes me a lucky man,” Rhaegar says. “I feared you would be in mourning and uninterested in seeing me. But that isn't the case, it would seem.” 

“Not the case at all. I’m glad you’re here.” 

Lyanna isn’t sure what’s come over her or perhaps this wickedness has always been here, inside of her. She only knows that she believes she’s found her match in Rhaegar. He’s more a gentleman than Robert ever was yet he isn’t without his indecency. It’s a good balance, she thinks. She wants to kiss him, but her mother announces that she made tea and invites Rhaegar to sit with them in the living room. 

“Only if Lyanna is fine with it,” he says respectfully. 

“You are welcome to stay,” Lyanna says. 

So he does. 

It comes to no surprise to Lyanna that her mother is charmed by Rhaegar. She laughs at every little thing he says, smiles with all her teeth, and finds any reason to touch his arm or his hand. Rhaegar takes it all in stride, without a hint of irritation. He answers all of her questions and asks a few of his own. He’s a great conversationalist. What are his flaws? Surely he has them. The more Rhaegar speaks, the more Lyanna wonders what secrets he’s hiding.

No one is perfect. 

“Are you married, sir?” Lyarra asks as all of her questions have been building up to this one. “Forgive me, but I do not see a ring…” 

“No, ma’am,” Rhaegar says. 

Lyarra gives a startled smile. “A young, handsome, wealthy man without a wife is very peculiar.” 

“Mother,” Lyanna scolds. 

Rhaegar smiles. “I suppose that is peculiar. I’ve yet to find the right fit, I suppose.” He looks at Lyanna with longing in his eyes. “Although I believe my search is near an end.” 

For a moment, a very brief moment, they’re the only two in the living room, she and Rhaegar. He has a way of expressing so much with no words at all and she has a way of losing herself in his unspoken truths. She’s experienced this before, with whom she cannot know. Her heart remembers being swept away in a current like this before, but Lyanna has never felt this way about anyone so she doesn’t understand the sense of familiarity. 

Her mother glances between them, a knowing smile on her face. She sets her teacup on the saucer. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sir. As you know, my daughter has had a very tiring day…” 

Rhaegar is quick on the uptake. “Of course. I will take my leave now. Thank you for having me.” 

“Lyanna, see Mr. Targaryen out please.” 

Lyanna does as she’s told, too dazed to offer much fuss. 

In the foyer, she offers Rhaegar her thanks for calling on her and bringing flowers. She kisses him on the cheek, and the next second her back is pressed to do the door and Rhaegar’s tongue is down her throat. When he licks the seam of her lip, dragging his tongue over her cut, she whimpers quietly and fists her hands in his vest. Rhaegar sucks her lip into his hot mouth, the pressure reopens the cut, filling their mouths with the taste of blood. 

“Sorry,” she whispers, pulling away and touching her lip. 

Rhaegar hugs her close to him again, placing his chin on the top of her head. “I’ve yet to leave and I wish to see you again already,” he says, his voice sounding strained. 

Lyanna assumes that, like her, Rhaegar’s desire is overwhelming for him now. “My brother, Ned, will be home for the funeral, I’m certain,” Lyanna says as a distraction. “He won’t like you dropping in to see me and he’ll expect me to be in mourning.” She’ll have to wear black for at least a month. 

“How daring are you, Lyanna?” he asks. 

“That depends. What are you cooking inside that head of yours?” 

Rhaegar chuckles. “You shall see soon enough.”

* * *

In the week that follows, Lyanna’s days are filled with a procession of friends, acquaintances, and strangers dropping in to pay their respects as well as visits with Robert’s family. Her brother Ned came home, and they cried together; he mourned his best friend and she cried out of pity for her dense brother. How could he have been oblivious to who Robert truly was? 

People see what they want to see, she’s learned. 

As for Lyanna’s nights, she spends them in the company of Rhaegar. The first time she snuck out to see him she was a bundle of nerves and negativity. She imagined every bad scenario she could think of and it nearly hindered her from leaving the house. But she talked herself into it. She’s happy that she did. 

Rhaegar surprises her each night with a new adventure ranging from moderate to extravagant. They go skating at the local rink after hours when the facility is meant to be closed to the public. He assures her that no one will catch them, and they skate all night uninterrupted. On the way back to her home, she mentions how she’s only been to the Opera House once but would love to go again. 

So the next night Rhaegar takes her to see _Brave Danny Flint_, a tragedy about a woman who disguises herself as a man to join the war. Lyanna was worried that someone would see them but aside from the performers, there's no one else in the Opera House. Rhaegar arranged a private show just for them as only an Elite can do. 

When Danny Flint’s identity is discovered she’s raped and murdered. The show has been playing for weeks now and even though Lyanna heard how it ends it still brings her to tears. She cries on Rhaegar’s shoulder during the carriage ride to her home, and he promises her that their next adventure would end on a sweeter note. 

However, she doesn’t get to sneak out to see Rhaegar the next night because it’s the night before Robert’s funeral and Ned wants to spend time with her. They sit in the living room drinking gin and taking walks down memory lane. Lyanna told Rhaegar that if she ever doesn’t show up at least a half-hour past their agreed upon time that he should return home for the night.

She doesn’t like that she has to stand him up tonight, though, she doesn’t mind spending time with her brother. Ned is angry with himself for getting wrapped up in his marriage and his role as a family man so much that he never dropped in to visit more often or check in on Robert. 

“I’d hoped to see you both at the wedding,” Ned says sadly. “Robert couldn’t wait to marry you, Lya. It was all he talked about when I spoke to him.” 

“I know, Ned,” she says. The bottle of gin is nearly empty; thanks to Ned. They’ve been down here for hours. It’s time to call it a night. “We have to be up early tomorrow. We should retire. You especially. Your head will be ringing like a bell come sun up.” 

Ned pours himself another glass anyway. “It’d be a shame to leave the bottle unfinished.” 

Lyanna takes the glass from him. “You’ve had enough. I’ll make you a remedy for you. You’ll need it.” 

She takes the gin to the kitchen and pours it down the drain. Then she whips up Brandon’s signature hangover remedy. Out of all her brothers, she misses that hot-tempered lunk of wood most of all right now. He would’ve taken one look at her face when she returned home the other day and would’ve wanted to revive Robert just so he could kill him again. 

After giving Ned the remedy and watching him drink it all up, she sees him off to bed. She pops her head in her mother’s room to check on the woman. There’s a handkerchief on the woman’s nightstand, fresh with blood. Lyanna is filled with guilt at the sight of it. She needs to find more work soon, and she needs to prioritize her family again. 

Being with Rhaegar is fun and his kisses make her head spin and her loins sear but what are they even doing? Where will this end for them? Is she only a bit of fun while he’s in town? Lyanna regrets pouring the gin down the drain. She could use another drink.

In her bedroom, she stares at herself in the mirror, at the black dress she’s wearing. During the day she has to wear a black veil to mask her grief from the world as it’s only meant for her “beloved.” It’s a Northern tradition of old. Out of all of their traditions, she doesn’t mind this one because no one can see the lack of tears and sadness in her eyes. 

She’s slipping her nightgown on when she hears something hit her window. Peeking through the curtains she sees Rhaegar outside. As quietly as possible she cracks her window open. 

“What are you doing here?” she whispers loudly. It’s well past midnight now, too late for her to leave and make it back before dawn. 

“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” Rhaegar says with an elegant flair. “It is the east and Lyanna is the sun.” 

Lyanna isn’t impressed with this idiot spouting Shakespeare at her in the middle of the night. No, she isn’t impressed or flattered or humored at all. 

“Shut up,” she says, trying not to smile. “You’ll wake the neighborhood.” 

“Then invite me in.” 

Ned and her mother are here, and if her brother were to catch Rhaegar… 

“It’s too risky, Rhaegar.” 

“I’ll be very quiet and I won’t stay for long. I promised you sweetness tonight. Please allow me to keep my promise.” 

This man is ridiculous, she thinks fondly. 

Once her mother is down for the night the woman will sleep until morning and Ned is good and drunk so he’s sleeping like the dead probably. She could sneak Rhaegar in for an hour or so and have him out well before morning and nobody would be the wiser. This is far more daring than sneaking out. Her heart is racing, but not because she’s nervous. 

Lyanna is excited. 

“I’ll get the door,” she says, smiling. 

“No worries,” Rhaegar says, walking closer to the house. “I can climb to you.” He grabs hold of the wall trellis that’s covered in ivies and begins the climb. 

“Wait, don’t-” Lyanna closes her mouth, realizing that Rhaegar is climbing without issue despite the unreliability of the trellis.

In fact, he’s moving rather fast and quietly as though he were a nimble youth, not a man of twenty-three. She raises the window higher to accommodate his large frame and helps him through the window even though her help isn’t needed. She wants to make sure his feet don’t hit the floor too loudly, but there’s no need. Rhaegar’s steps, as she’s noticed, are very light. 

“See,” Rhaegar says, “easy.” He closes the window softly then faces her. “Did I wake you?” He skims his eyes over her nightgown. 

Lyanna glances down at herself, seeing that she forgot to put her robe on. With the lantern still on, basking her bedroom in a yellow hue, her gown is easily seen through, showing off her form; her hard nipples mainly. The draft from the window is to blame. Shaking her head, she shyly covers herself. 

“I was preparing for bed,” she says, her voice small. When they’re out together she’s loud and even ballsy but having Rhaegar in her bedroom is different. 

Smiling, he steps around her and walks over to her vanity, ghosting his fingers over her comb, brush, and jewelry box. He picks up the framed portrait of her with her brothers. Lyanna watches him curiously, waiting for him to say something, anything about the portrait. But he simply puts the portrait down then faces her again. 

“May I remove my coat?” he asks. 

“Of course.” Lyanna helps him out of it and goes to her closet to hang it up. “I’m sorry for not meeting you earlier. My brother required my company.” 

Leaving the closet door cracked, she turns to Rhaegar and finds him sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her with that look in his eyes; the look he always has before and after they kiss. That hungry look that makes her feel like his prey. He beckons her closer, and like a moth to the flame she goes to him, her body moving on its own. 

She straddles his lap. “Did you bring me chocolates?” she asks coyly. 

“I brought you something else. Something sweeter.” 

“Is that so? I’ll be the judge of that,” she says, unsure where she found the confidence to say it.   
  
As she’s learned during their time together, Rhaegar is a man of his word, and he prefers to allow his actions to do the talking most times. From the way he kisses her and cradles her in his arms tenderly, she assumes this is the sweetness he was referring to, not that she’s opposed. His lips are soft yet firm when they need to be, and his tongue works inside of her mouth in a way that mirrors how she imagines his cock would inside of her core. 

She always saw kissing as a prelude to pleasure but with Rhaegar kissing _is_ the greatest pleasure. At least that’s what she believes until he shows her otherwise. 

Rhaegar picks her up without effort and lays her on the bed, her back pressed into the mattress, her thighs secured around his hips. She thinks they’re going to do _that_, and her heartbeat quickens. She casts him an anxious glance. 

“Not tonight,” he says, kissing her forehead then along her collarbone. He skims his hands down her sides, making her shiver and gasp. Settling his hands on her hips, he whispers in her ear, “I only want to taste you for now. Is that fine?” 

Lyanna’s eyes fall shut and she nods. She keeps her eyes closed as he kisses down her body, his warm breath seeping through the fabric of her gown, causing goosebumps to rise on her skin. He takes a moment to brush his lips over each of her nipples, and she squirms under him, pressing her thighs together to relieve the pressure between them. She’s already wet and yearning before his mouth reaches her pelvis. As the skirt of her gown is being lifted up past her belly button, she presses her face into the pillow, her cheeks aflame. No one has ever looked upon her so closely. As much as she wants to experience what he intends to do to her, she’s also worried that her beauty doesn’t extend that far. 

Rhaegar is either a mind reader or he’s extremely perceptive because he’s sure to express how he thinks every inch of her is comely before he gives her the sweetest of kisses. And while the kiss is quite the experience, and she responds to it, it pales in comparison to having his tongue on her. At the first touch of it, her back arches, her spine rising off the mattress and she moans loudly. 

Far too loudly. 

“Quiet, my love,” Rhaegar says, nipping at her thigh. “You don’t want to wake the house.” He resumes his task of undoing her with his tongue. 

Lyanna covers her mouth with both of her hands, whimpering and moaning into them. Soon even her hands aren’t enough to muffle her moans, and she finds herself unsure what to do with them. She wants to curl them in his hair, she wants to fist them in her own, she wants to cup his face and hold him in place as she fucks against his mouth, and she also wants to hold his back as he thrusts into her. She wants everything all at once and it's maddening. 

Eventually, her hands find their way to his hair. She tugs on it and rolls her hips, chasing after an end she’s uncertain of. Rhaegar hums encouragingly, the depth of his voice sending a ripple through her. Curiosity getting the better of her, she peeks down at him through hooded eyes, and the sight of the exquisite gentleman feasting on her as though she were a ripened peach heightens the experience, the pleasure. 

Rhaegar looks up at her as he continues to suck and lap at her pearl and it’s as if his eyes are glowing again the same as they were when they danced at the manor. With a blink, the glow is gone and all that’s left is hunger. 

Lyanna closes her eyes again, throwing her head back. The end she’s searching for finds her and sweeps her away on a current of all-consuming ecstasy. She calls out his name with a shuddering cry, and he swallows up the sound with a kiss. She tastes herself on his tongue and it’s binding in a way, a consummation of sorts. 

As she drifts off to sleep, she swears she can hear him telling her that he loves her, that he always has, that he always will. But she can’t be sure.

* * *

“Did your brother leave after the funeral?” Rhaegar asks as if he didn’t watch the man board the train himself. He likes to keep tabs on potential obstacles, and thankfully Eddard Stark proved to be insignificant in that regard. 

Wiping the corners of her mouth with a napkin, Lyanna nods. “Yes, he had to return to his wife and children.” She drinks some of her wine and makes a little sound that suggests she’s pleased with it. “You have an eye for good wine.” 

“I do my best.” 

Tonight, to honor the life and death of Robert, they’re having a moonlight picnic in one of the smaller city parks. To ensure no one disturbs them, Rhaegar set up a magical barrier to keep people away; as he's done for all of their outings. Animals are immune to the spell, but they usually keep away from his kind, understanding him to be the top predator. Although he doesn’t care for human food and drink, he partakes here and there to keep up with appearances. It all tastes like ash to him. Perhaps that is because to him, nothing compares to warm blood. 

The more Lyanna drinks, the more the blood rises to the surface of her skin, reddening her cheeks, her neck, and even the top of her breasts that are practically spilling out of her black gown. To say she looks ravishing this evening would be an understatement. There’s something about the moonlight on her skin and the sense of freedom surrounding her that makes it difficult for him to take his eyes off of her. 

Every time he looks at her he thinks about how she tasted last night. Rhaegar very nearly took her. She wanted him to, and he desperately wanted to. However, he wants her to know the truth first, and he wants her to give herself to him despite knowing what he is. It would be easy to compel her and turn her this very instance, but that isn’t love, that’s control. 

“I believe that’s enough for tonight, Lyanna,” he says, taking her wine glass from her, ignoring her complaints. “Is there a reason why you’re intent on finishing the bottle by yourself?” he jokes. 

Lyanna tries to take the glass from him, but he holds it far out of her reach. “I’m celebrating,” she says, pouting in an uncharacteristic way. “The circus is finally over. I get to breathe again.” 

That may be part of it but that isn’t all of it. Since he picked her up from her home she’s been fidgety and self-conscious. He assumed she was bashful about last night, and he found it endearing. Then she started to drink and with each glass, his bold Lyanna returned. 

Rhaegar drains half the glass of wine then hands the rest to Lyanna. She takes the glass though she doesn’t drink. 

“You’ve been here on business for more than a week now…” 

“I have,” he says. 

Lyanna stares into the glass. “You never intended to stay here long and yet…” She looks up at him, her grey eyes clear and alert despite her being intoxicated. “You’ve been spending all this time with me.” 

“Is there something you would like to ask me?” 

Lyanna drinks. She finishes the remainder of the glass in one go then sets it aside. “There’s a lot I want to ask you.” Sitting up, she clumsily straddles him and hikes her skirts up revealing her smooth legs. “For now, I want you to kiss me and make me love to me, Rhaegar.” 

Only a fool would deny her. Even though her kisses are messy and she’s more than a little drunk, Lyanna manages to maintain her appeal. She’s also whispering his name in a way that weakens him and the way she keeps rocking her hips is driving him up the wall. He has to physically put an end to it by taking her by the arms gently and pushing her away. 

“You don’t want me?” she asks, hurt and confusion in her voice. 

“You’re all that I want, Lyanna,” he says, centuries of longing and heartache in his voice. 

Lyanna blinks at him, her eyes watering. “I feel the same, too, though I shouldn’t. We’ve only known each other for a short time. But at times, it’s as if I’ve known you for lifetimes.” She rocks her hips again with more purpose this time. “You say I’m all that you want. Then have me, Rhaegar.” 

“I have to tell you something.” 

“That you’re married,” she says, laughing dryly. “You have a wife and children waiting for you in another city. Is that your secret?” Glancing at his left hand, she takes it into her own. “I don’t see a ring on your finger,” she whispers, kissing his knuckles. 

Rhaegar’s resistance is gradually cracking. It shatters completely when Lyanna unhooks her gown in the back and slides it down to her hips, showing him her black brassiere and corset. He descends on her exposed flesh, kissing and sucking the top of her breasts while his fingers work to get her out of the corset. Lyanna is rolling her hips and curling her fingers in his hair, his name falling from her lips. She has no idea how she affects him.

The corset is stubborn so he rips it off, and Lyanna giggles; too drunk to realize that ripping a corset as he just did requires great strength. Holding her by the ass, he lifts her just enough to lay her on the part of their blanket that isn’t covered in food. He kisses her, and in their urgency, he bites her lip too hard and it bleeds. 

Lyanna doesn’t seem to notice. But of course, Rhaegar does. The air is filled with the intoxicating scent of her blood. He tasted it once on that day when he went to see her following Robert’s death. He had to drain two humans dry to wash the memory of the taste out of his mouth; to prevent himself from draining her instead. Now that taste is on his tongue again.

However, Rhaegar is less concerned about himself than he is about the other predator that’s lurking nearby. By the smell of it, it's a fledgling; a turned vampire. Fledglings are of higher intelligence than the rabid vampires; wights, but they’re still low on the food chain to Rhaegar and his siblings. His only concern is Lyanna. 

“Lyanna,” he says in a stern voice, “we must return to the carriage.” He sits up and takes her by the hand. 

Blinking in confusion, Lyanna allows him to help her up. Leaving her corset behind, she hurriedly pulls her dress back up.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. “Did you hear someone?” 

Rhaegar curses under his breath. The barrier won’t keep the fledgling out, and it’s coming toward them fast. He can sense their bloodthirst. They won’t make it to the carriage. He also has a feeling that the coachman is already dead. Rhaegar's presence alone should keep the fledgling far away as they tend to avoid him and his siblings for the same reasons animals do. Perhaps it’s the blood of a virgin that calls to the creature. 

“Stay close to me,” he says, putting an arm around Lyanna. He extends the claws on his other hand and with them, his fangs grow in length. 

Lyanna opens her mouth, a question on her tongue then the words die there when she hears an animalistic snarl. Then she sees the male fledgling, and there’s no question whether it’s human or not. Its scleras are black and its irises are a deep red, its claws are the same as Rhaegar’s though pitch black in coloring. And its fangs resemble that of a wolf, large and protruding from its mouth. 

At the sight of Rhaegar, the fledgling hisses and snaps its teeth threateningly. The action is meant to intimidate. All it does is irritate Rhaegar further. Despite his annoyance, he smiles at the creature. 

“You want her?” he asks, gesturing at Lyanna. “You want her sweet, innocent blood?” He’s only baiting it so that it will come to them. He wants to end this quickly. "Take her then. If you can." 

The fledgling turns its gaze to Lyanna and the woman takes a startled step back. Her sudden movement kicks the fledgling into action. It lunges at her. In the blink of an eye, Rhaegar puts Lyanna behind him, holding her there with one hand then with the other he stabs the fledgling in the chest with his claws and rips its heart cleanout. Before its body can hit the ground, it turns to black ashes. 

Lyanna stares at the bloody heart in Rhaegar’s hand, watching until it, too, turns to black ashes. Soon the ashes will disappear, leaving no trace of the creature that once was. 

“I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you what I intended to tell you earlier,” Rhaegar says as he removes a handkerchief from his pocket to clean his hand. He looks at Lyanna as he does so, searching for a hint of anything; fear, rejection, or disgust. Perhaps even all three. 

He finds neither. That’s because Lyanna faints soon after. He catches her before she can hit the ground and carries her to the carriage. As he assumed, the coachman is dead. 

What a splendid way to end the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two more Overture chapters left then the main story will begin. Thanks for reading!  
(ages are altered to fit the AU)


	4. Overture IV

_ **Winterfell - 1910** _

  
When Lyanna fainted from the sight of the strange creature and Rhaegar with his bloody hands gripping the creature’s heart that he’d ripped out, her memories returned to her in a flood of scattered moments of herself in a time long gone. 

During that time, in the time of kings, queens, and knights, she had the same name and called Winterfell her home in her youth. But she fled her home as a girl of six and ten and journeyed to King’s Landing. 

The Knight of the Laughing Tree is what she and others called her. Her disguise was her way of escaping an unwanted betrothal and hiding from the men her family sent looking for her.

Lyanna planned to lie low and keep her head down but she couldn’t turn a blind eye to the injustices that were going on around her. The poor and the weak were being mistreated in every way imaginable. On top of that, the crown placed a high tax on the lands to support the king’s and queen’s love for expensive vices. 

By day, Lyanna hid in the Inn she rented but by night she defended the small folk, stole from the rich and gave to the poor, and rescued a handful of maidens from unwanted advances. The young children idolized her, the maidens wished to be carried off by her, and the elderly sent up prayers in hopes that the gods would continue to send the knight to their aid. 

Well, it wasn’t Lyanna they worshiped, but the knight she masqueraded as. 

There were wanted posters up for her arrest. The sketch was only of her helm she wore to cover her face and hide her long hair and the shield she painted herself. No one knew what she looked like. In the songs, she was a handsome lad because of her small stature it was assumed she was a young boy. 

No one suspected her either, and Lyanna believed she could continue on for a time, and then she would leave the city without capture. She planned to book passage to Dorne and live out her days there. 

Then she met him. 

Lyanna enjoyed bathing in a lake that sat deep off in the woods during the early morning after her nights out, far from any potential onlookers. Initially, she thought Rhaegar was peeping on her. Looking back at that moment, she understands that he only happened to stumble upon her as she was rising out of the water, soaked and fully nude. He took one look at her then at the shield she had propped up against the tree; the shield with the laughing weirwood tree. 

“You’re that mystery knight the Kingsguard are looking for,” Rhaegar said, his indigo eyes glittering, a hint of surprise in them. “My sister is quite fond of you. She will like you even more when she learns you’re a woman.” 

Lyanna rushed out of the water and grabbed her sword, too occupied with taking care of what she saw as a threat rather than dressing. She thought he intended to turn her over for the hefty reward so she attacked him. 

Rhaegar evaded every swipe of her sword with the effort one would use to step from one side to the other. He was unbelievably fast, light-footed, and beautiful. Even in her state of distress, she couldn’t overlook that undeniable fact. He was beautiful, tall, and his voice did things to her body, the kinds of things she had often ignored until the sensation went away. But on that night she couldn’t ignore it so easily. Nonetheless, she continued to fight him and he continued to dance away from her attacks with barely any effort. 

“I would love to continue our little game,” he told her, smiling, “but the Kingsguard are approaching. Dress quickly and flee. I will hold them off.” 

Lyanna was wary of him. The man was dressed well and had an air of prestige about him. He was the sort of person she stole from and yet he wanted to help her. Soon she could hear the hooves of approaching horses so she did as he instructed, deciding that she would do better to accept his kindness rather than question it. She got away that night.

A wise woman would have avoided the place altogether after that but Lyanna returned to the lake the next night and Rhaegar was there waiting for her. They were both curious about the other, and from that curiosity, their mutual attraction grew, and from that love bloomed. Rhaegar was ever the gentleman. If he desired her body, he hid that desire well. Most of their time was spent talking, exploring the woods, and swimming in the lake. Then until one night, they kissed and well, kissing was all Lyanna wanted to do after that. 

One night, he brought his sister to meet her. Daenerys, she remembers her now. A woman of surpassing beauty and charm. Then another night she met his brother Viserys at the ball the siblings hosted at their estate in the countryside. Viserys was beautiful but in a way different from his siblings, and more than a little rude but Lyanna knew how to deal with rude people so they got along eventually.

Rhaegar told her that the three of them were planning to leave King’s Landing soon and wanted her to accompany them. She saw no point in turning down the offer as she had already planned to leave King’s Landing and she didn't want to return to Winterfell. 

The day Lyanna was set to leave with them, the Kingsguard found her in the Inn because someone had tipped them off. Had she been a man her death might’ve been swift but because she was a woman who dared to don a knight’s armor her punishment would be different. The King ordered his men to make an example out of her, to remind her that she was a woman whose only worth was to be bedded. The King gave her to his Seven; seven of his best knights, to do with as they pleased. 

By the god's will, Daenerys overhead the small folk talking about her capture and the punishment the King intended for her. She and her brothers arrived before the act could be carried out, and they showed Lyanna what they truly were on that day when they slaughtered every guard in sight. 

Even in her new life, Lyanna isn’t sure why she accepted them as easily as she had, especially after the carnage she witnessed. Perhaps by then, she was too deeply in love with Rhaegar to care, and she knew that they wouldn’t hurt her. Whatever the case may be, she never regretted taking Rhaegar’s hand and allowing him to pull her out of that cell. Not for a second. 

Not even when she watched her dear son die many years later. Not even when she died shortly after him.

* * *

After killing the fledgling, Rhaegar contemplated returning Lyanna to her home but he was admittedly anxious to know her reaction to what occurred. Instead, he brought her to the manor where Viserys and Arthur were already waiting. The two are out now purchasing attire for Arthur who is gradually beginning to return to himself, though, he has yet to utter a word. 

It’s a pity. Rhaegar found the man’s voice pleasant. 

When Lyanna awakes, sobbing and clinging on to him for dear life, Rhaegar knows that she’s somehow remembered their shared past. As he holds her, he can sense her grief as well as her relief. Although the memories are painful, they’re together again. 

“Lyanna,” Rhaegar says, caressing her shoulder and petting her hair, “how much do you remember?” 

“Everything,” she says, the word punctuated by a choked sob. “Oh, Rhaegar,” she cries, her entire form trembling. “I’m sorry...all of it, it was all my fault. You were right. We had no business in their war but I...I…” 

“You did what you thought was right, Lyanna. You were always that way. Stubborn,” he chuckles sadly, “and determined to help those weaker than you. That’s why I fell for you. That’s why I will always fall for you.” 

Shaking her head, Lyanna buries her face in his chest, sobbing harder. “It’s my fault Jacaerys died. I killed our boy. I-” 

“Lyanna,” Rhaegar says, his tone stern but not unkind. “Our son was as stubborn as us both, and he was brave. He would’ve fought regardless of what decision you made.” How can he blame Lyanna for remaining true to herself? “Our son died a hero. He saved many lives before he fell. But none of that matters now, you’ve returned to me.” 

“And our son?” she asks, looking up at him with bloodshot eyes and a red nose. “Will he return as well.” 

“The witch assured me that he would.” They will need to create him, though. Until then… “I can’t imagine how overwhelming all of this is. I had hoped to reveal the truth to you bit by bit.” 

“Is that why we went to see Brave Danny Flint?” she asks. 

Danny Flint disguised herself as a man the same as Lyanna but Lyanna was saved, Danny wasn’t. 

“The opera was wholly coincidental. Of all the things I wanted you to remember, that close call wasn’t one of them. I wanted you to remember the happy moments. Despite our end, there were plenty of them.” 

“I know.” 

Lyanna hugs him, and for a time they stay that way, holding each other. In a way, Rhaegar’s glad that she remembered everything on her own. This way she knows and feels the things his words could never fully express. He never wants to let go of her, but he knows that he must. Lyanna has a new life here, a mother to care for. He can't whisk her away for good so soon. 

“I will drop in to let my mother know that I’m fine,” Lyanna says in a detached voice. “I also...I need time to sort through all of this..." 

Rhaegar understands. Truly, he does. This is a startling discovery, and Lyanna now has two lives that she’s lived and the memories from each swirling in her head. He tries not to take her eagerness to leave as a sign of rejection. 

“Allow me to see you home,” he says. 

Rhaegar procured a new coachman last night to replace the one the fledgling killed. The ride to Lyanna’s home is silent and unbearable. She stares out the window, making an effort not to look at him, and he steals glances at her every so often in hopes that their eyes will meet or he will catch her looking at him. Neither things occur. 

The closer they draw to her home, the less confident Rhaegar feels in her acceptance of the truth about him and their joined fates. 

“Thank you for the lift home,” she says, still not looking at him as the door is opened by the coachman. 

Rhaegar’s eyes sting with tears he won’t dare shed. “Of course, Lyanna.” 

She turns around then, her eyes empty but not cold. “Can you come by later? Tonight?” she asks. “Midnight, if it pleases you.” 

It pleases him greatly to have the invitation even though he fears what they will discuss when he comes. Nevertheless, he will meet his lady’s request. 

“I will see you then,” he promises. 

He orders the coachmen to leave once he ensures Lyanna makes it inside her door. Then they return to the manor. Rhaegar is well reserved throughout the journey, but once he’s inside, he searches for Arthur frantically. Surely he and Viserys should’ve returned by now. 

Rhaegar hates this feeling, this sense of hopelessness that consumes him whenever he’s not in her presence. The witch never warned him about this drawback. She only said that in order to bind their souls again, they would have to copulate as it is the purest way to become one; the impure way is through dark magic and he has had his fill of dark magic. He needs his anchor. And Arthur has been his anchor as of late. Without him, Rhaegar fears what he would do. 

Viserys is out but Arthur is in the master’s bedroom, shirtless and staring at one of the new dress shirts Viserys picked out for him. 

“Arthur, there you are,” Rhaegar says, masking his panic. “I see Viserys got new clothes for you. Are they to your liking?” 

“They are.” 

Rhaegar wasn’t expecting the man to answer with words. He expected a head nod. “You’re speaking again. How wonderful.” He approaches the man, keeping a careful distance. “How are you feeling?” 

“Strong,” Arthur says, his voice deep and smooth. “I suppose I owe you my thanks for sparing me.” 

“It’s my fault that you were preyed on at all.” His brother knows his type all too well. “Do you understand what you are now? How our lives are now linked. Well, how you are linked to my life? As long as I live, so shall you.” 

“You explained it to me before.” 

Ah, that’s right. Rhaegar spent a great deal of time talking to Arthur about any- and everything, mostly Lyanna. He’s embarrassed to know the man understood him all of this time. He opens his mouth to apologize but closes it when Arthur walks over to the bed and lays down on his back. 

“This is what you came here for, right?” Arthur says, patting the space beside him. “I don’t mind it.” He stares directly at Rhaegar as though he were looking through him. 

It bothers Rhaegar how attracted he is to Arthur. He thought that once Lyanna returned he wouldn’t desire anyone else. However, even in the past they both had moments of spontaneity and would invite others to their bed; on the rarest of occasions. But only women, for Lyanna more than himself. That was during the early years of their marriage when they spent a lot of time in Essos. After Jacaerys was born, they became an old boring couple; Viserys’s words. 

Rhaegar lays beside Arthur, their arms touching, and he makes an effort to think of anything but the heat he feels from the man’s body. He’s still warm to the touch, still human on the surface. There’s a certain appeal about that. 

“Did something happen with Lyanna?” Arthur asks. “You always get this way when you leave her.” 

“You’re very perceptive.” 

“I had to be in my old life. It kept me alive.” 

It occurs to him that he doesn’t know anything about Arthur’s life before the man came to Winterfell. He intends to change that. 

“Tell me, Arthur, what did you do in your old life? Do you have any family?” 

“Two sisters I haven’t seen in years. I traveled around Dorne doing odd jobs and sometimes mercenary work after my father disinherited me for...reasons…” 

“Reasons that you would prefer not to say. I understand. I won’t pry.” Not now he wouldn’t. 

Arthur is thankful. He continues. 

While Arthur talks about his life and family, Rhaegar listens with apt interest as it serves as a distraction from his thoughts of Lyanna.

* * *

As expected, her mother was worried sick, but thank the old gods and the new that the woman refrained from going down to the police station and filing a report or asking their neighbors if they’d seen anything suspicious. Lyarra raised Brandon, after all. She knew to wait a full day before she rounded up a search party. 

However, Lyanna is her only daughter so she doesn’t get off as easily as her brother used to. Her mother gives her a talking to that goes on for hours and hours, and throughout the entire thing, all Lyanna could think about was how in her past life she never even knew her mother. The woman died when she was a girl giving birth to her youngest brother. 

Back then, she had three brothers, too. Unlike her, their names are different, though, their faces remain the same. She can only remember bits and pieces of her life prior to meeting Rhaegar. She assumes it will all come back to her with time. 

After her scolding, she throws herself into her household chores and tries to forget about everything. Not because she doesn’t want to accept the truth and not because she doesn’t like the idea of Rhaegar holding a candle for her for all this time. Lyanna just wants to not think for a little while. 

And she doesn’t. 

She cleans the entire house from top to bottom and goes into town to get things for the house. This is how she’s always dealt with the things she wasn’t ready to face. She busies herself and hides from her problems until she’s ready to face them. 

By the time she’s done with chores, she cooks dinner for her and her mother. She hardly eats anything. Her mother assumes she’s still upset about Robert. 

Gods, Lyanna forgot all about the man. 

Then it hits her. 

The entire Barry ordeal, the suddenness of the attack, that was Rhaegar’s doing. He and his siblings can control people’s minds if she remembers correctly. Compulsion, that’s what it's called. Rhaegar compelled Barry to kill Robert so that he wouldn’t have anything or anyone standing in his way. She supposes that's better than Rhaegar ripping Robert's heart out or decapitating him. 

He’s still as clever as he is jealous. 

Lyanna smiles. 

“Did you have a pleasant thought just now?” Lyarra asks, looking hopeful. 

“I did.” Thoughts of Rhaegar are always pleasant. She understands now why she was drawn to him the moment she met him. “And no I won’t tell you about it so don’t ask.” 

“Oh, Lyanna you are terrible.” Her mother laughs. “Fine. You don’t have to share. I’m just happy you seem to be feeling better.” 

Lyanna knows the woman’s words are genuine. As happy as she is that Rhaegar and her have a second chance she can’t discard her new life so easily. Her mother still needs her, and as much as she hates this city, it’s her home. She knows from experience that Rhaegar is an agreeable man if nothing else. He isn’t here to steal her away. If she wants to stay awhile longer, he will stay with her. 

She finds herself smiling again.

If she wanted, he would even marry her to keep up appearances. Her mother would love that, and they could live together and be man and wife before they leave this city for good. 

* * *

At the first stroke of midnight, Rhaegar comes to her. For all of his wisdom and experience, he still has moments of weakness. 

When he climbs into Lyanna’s window and smells the scent of her freshly bathed skin and sees her standing there in only a thin robe with nothing underneath, he has one of those moments. Her skin and hair are still damp, and the robe clings to her body, accentuating her breasts, her hard, pert nipples, the curves at her waist, and the gentle slope of her hips. 

He’s seen, touched, and tasted every part of her before and yet the sight of her leaves him thunderstruck. 

Lyanna walks up to him, her steps slow and measured, and the closer she draws, the hotter the air surrounding them becomes until it's near stifling. She asks to take his coat, her voice trembling ever so slightly. She’s nervous, he realizes. The same as she had been all those years ago when they consummated their marriage. 

For all of her boldness and bravery, Lyanna is bashful when it comes to sex which is why she nearly drank a whole bottle of wine last night before asking him to make love to her. But she grew out of that after their first night together. 

Rhaegar stops thinking about the past. What matters is this moment, this lifetime.

Lyanna helps him out of his coat, and he watches her walk over to the closet to hang it up. He follows behind her as silent as a specter, and once the coat is hung, he embraces her from behind, and she sighs into him. He kisses the shell of her ear as his hands rest on her thighs. 

“Is it safe to assume that you have no intentions of rejecting me?” he asks because he needs to be certain that she wants to be his again before he has her. 

“Why would I reject the love of my life?” Lyanna takes his left hand, guiding it through the opening in her robe, to her warm, awaiting core. “I may have forgotten you for a time but my heart never did. I’m yours, Rhaegar.” 

He’s dreamed of hearing those words again. Reality is a hundred times better, far more rewarding than he could’ve ever imagined. 

Rhaegar cups her chin with his right hand, turning her head toward him for a heated kiss while his finger traces up and down her slit. She’s already wet for him and warm to the touch as he knew she would be. Her desire, like the scent of oiled water and lavender soap from her bath, is heavy in the air, smoldering. 

Deepening the kiss, he presses his tongue inside her mouth as he presses his middle finger inside her tight cunt. Lyanna gasps, her back arching. He doesn’t curve his finger because his nails are long and hurting her is the last thing he wants to do. But he knows how to please her despite the disadvantage. Mindful of his nails, he begins to thumb her clit as his finger remains enclosed by her searing walls. He muffles her moans with his kisses. 

For a northern girl, Lyanna burns incredibly hot. His cock hardens near painful at the thought of being inside of her again after centuries. Patience, he tells himself. He can’t rush this or he could seriously hurt her. Humans bruise and break easily, and though he knows she’s far from a porcelain doll even she can shatter if he holds her too hard. 

Lyanna is squirming and grasping blindly at his neck, his face, and his hair with one hand, and the other hand is touching his chest. She’s so overcome with pleasure that she isn’t sure what to do. She only knows that she wants more of him.

It would appear they’re both in need of patience. 

Rhaegar sucks on her bottom lip, teasing the plump flesh with a fang. “Undo your robe, Lyanna,” he instructs, his voice rich and dripping with desire. “Let me see how beautiful you are.” 

With shaky hands, Lyanna unties her robe, the fabric slipping down her shoulders, but it doesn’t fall to the floor just yet. It still hangs off from her arms. Rhaegar removes his finger and thumb from her cunt, kissing away her whines of protests, and he ushers her over to her floor mirror so that she can see herself; so that he can see her fully as well. 

Lyanna’s face is flushed red and her forehead and neck shine from sweat, her hair sticking to the sides of her face. She refuses to look at herself until Rhaegar touches her chin delicately and makes her face the mirror. She still doesn’t look at herself but at his reflection. Rhaegar brushes her hair over her shoulder, away from her petite breasts. 

“They’re very small,” she says quietly, trying to cover herself. 

They’re not small at all. They’re plump enough for him to grip on to. That’s all that matters to him. 

Rhaegar moves her hands away. 

“Touch them,” he says, kissing along her shoulder as his hands settle on her hips. Instinctively, her thighs part, and he returns his finger to her core. “I want you to love them as much as I do,” he says, watching her eyes roll into her skull. 

Lyanna touches her breasts, shyly at first. When he thumbs her clit again, she squeezes and kneads her breasts just the way he wanted her to. She’s still as tight as she was the first time he put his finger inside her and she’ll continue to be until she’s been stimulated enough. 

“Have you ever pleasured yourself?” he asks. 

She shakes her head. 

“Will you do so for me?” He removes his finger but keeps his thumb on her. She’s so wet that he has to add pressure in order to keep his thumb from constantly slipping. “It’ll make it hurt less.” 

“Are you sure you just don’t want to watch me do that?” 

“I admit part of the reason for my request is because I very much want to watch you.” 

“Pervert,” she says. 

But her eyes say that she’s open to obliging. She’s curious and daring by nature, after all. 

Rhaegar removes her robe and leads her over to the bed where she lays on her back, her thighs slightly ajar. Like this, he can drink her in better, admire how flawless she is beneath the yellow-hued light. He removes his clothes, watching her watching him as he does so. She openly appraises his sculpted upper body and stares wide at the bulge in his pants.

Getting on the bed, he gathers her up in his arms, their bare skin touching, and he kisses her, licking and thrusting his tongue into her sweet mouth. She twines her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, pressing herself against him. 

Taking her right hand, he kisses her fingertips and her palm then he drags her hand between them, making her touch herself. He talks her through it, telling her to use her middle finger since it’s the longest, and encouraging her to curl her finger to find that sweet, bundle of nerves inside her core. He knows the exact moment when she finds that spot, too. And he’s quick to put his hand over her mouth to quiet her. 

Eyes snapping shut, she shudders as pleasure ripples through her. After that, he doesn’t have to tell her how to do it. Lyanna does fine on her own. 

Moving to his knees, Rhaegar unbuttons his pants as he watches her, and frees his cock. He takes hold of it, stroking it slowly. 

When their kind is aroused, angry, agitated, or anything other than calm and collected, their true nature peeks out. This can mean their claws and fangs will become prominent or their eyes will glow brightly. Rhaegar’s eyes have always given him away. He’s slipped up around Lyanna a few times and has made an effort to prevent it from happening again. 

His eyes glow now and he doesn’t bother stopping it. He wants her to know how deeply she affects him. Watching her panting and fucking herself on her finger, her breasts heaving and her hips rolling nearly ends him right there. But it’s the moment when her eyes open and she gazes up at him, a storm in her grey eyes, that he completely loses his pointless battle. He always knew he would lose to her. 

Rhaegar clasps her wrist and pulls her wet finger out, sucking the taste of her off her finger as his other hand holds his cock steady. He rubs his cockhead along her wet slit. Hurriedly, Lyanna pushes his pants further down then she presses down on his backside which forces his cock inside of her faster and deeper than he planned. They both moan; Lyanna from the breach and Rhaegar from the feel of her tight heat squeezing his cock.

On instinct, Rhaegar bites her finger. Blood trickles down her hand and arm. Lyanna stares at the blood, her expression curiously calm. Then she looks at him expectantly. 

Rhaegar is past second-guessing and waiting for reassurance. He licks the blood clean as he moves inside of her, his cock pulsing from the taste of her blood, the excitement it conjures. One drop of his mate’s blood does for him what gallons of blood from random prey have failed to do. 

That isn’t the only blood that’s spilled on this night, either. Her maiden’s blood wets his cock, and Rhaegar would be lying if he said the mere thought of it didn’t further arouse him because it does. More than he could ever admit. 

He fucks her in earnest now, though he’d planned to do so from the very start. Sitting up, he takes hold of her thighs, holding them back, his nails digging into her supple flesh. Lyanna raises her hands, fisting them in the pillowcase as she rocks her hips to meet his thrusts. He knows she wants to scream and vocally express how good he’s making her feel, he sees the frustration brimming in her eyes, but the most she can do is bite her lips, whimper, and cry. 

She sheds tears; he can smell the salt in the air, and can almost taste it. She stares at him, her eyes hooded and glossy, and silently pleads with him. To do what exactly, he isn’t sure. He only knows that it’s past time that she’s orgasmed again. 

Angling her hips ever so slightly, he fucks her deeper, as deep as possible, until her eyes are rolled white and her back is no longer touching the mattress, and beyond that. Lyanna scratches at his chest, his name falling from her lips like a litany of prayers. He no longer silences her. He’s abandoned all care of being caught by anyone and so has she apparently. 

She tightens around him as the waves of bliss washes over her. And he fucks her through it, pulling her up into his arms and cradling her close to him as he finds his own release. 

It’ll take him a while, however. 

Unsurprisingly, Lyanna is able to keep up with him. He sends her over the edge twice more, and she’s boneless and near unconsciousness when he empties his seed in her at long last. Afterward, they both fall asleep in each other’s arms, and Rhaegar is still buried inside of her.

* * *

_ **Meereen - 1910** _

Their cries of heated protest carry on throughout the night and well into the morning, and a fight broke out at one point. Daenerys could hear them shoving, hitting, and cursing one another from her place at the top of the pyramid, behind the thick walls. It’s been more of the same for seven nights. What began as an insignificant occurrence is now a teeth-grinding nuisance. 

Not all of them want her gone, however. There are those who still see her presence in Meereen as a sign that the Harpy has been reborn, that at long last a hero has come to save them from depravity. She wonders how her “supporters” would feel knowing that she is depravity; her very being is wicked and morally corrupt. 

Although, it didn’t start that way. 

She, the same as her siblings were created out of the unconditional love of their mother. Rhaella, their mother, was a powerful sorceress who drew her power from the Old Valyrian gods and goddesses. Every day the woman wore a vial of dragon’s blood around her neck, blood from the Cannibal, to be precise. 

The Cannibal was one of the older dragons who was known to feed on everything, even the carcass of dead dragons, sometimes he feasted on live ones. Rhaegar believes that when their mother used her blood and the Cannibal's blood in her spell, they obtained both characteristics in their new, immortal life. They’ve maintained their mother’s likeness, her human qualities, yet they feast on flesh, sometimes the flesh of their own kind. 

Their mother’s intentions had been to cast a spell that would keep her children safe from the usurper’s men who were pursuing them relentlessly instead she created the first vampires. In the centuries Daenerys has walked this earth she’s yet to meet a witch or warlock who even comes close to their mother’s power. She and her brothers have tampered with spells here and there but they still require the aid of witches and warlocks in most cases despite having their mother’s blood, her magic, in their veins. 

Daenerys is reminded of her mother’s frail form after she completed the spell, how she was drained of her life energy shortly after, and she has to blink away a tear. Their mother remains very dear to them all. It’s difficult to think of her without a sense of sadness hovering in the background. 

“Oh how I envy you two,” Daenerys says to Grey Worm and Missandei after she makes an effort to tune out the noise from outside. “You can’t hear what they’re saying. I doubt you can hear them at all up here.” 

They’re in her bed chamber, seated on cushioned, ornate pillows with a game of cyvasse between them. Missandei is playing with her while Grey Worm watches closely so that he may learn. 

The two give her an apologetic look. Missandei says, “I hope their words aren’t too harsh, my queen.” 

Initially, their words weren’t harsh at all, nothing more than the occasional shout of “demoness” and “murderer” here and there. Both are words that mean nothing to her as she’s not a demon, but a vampire and no one ever calls a lion or a tiger a murderer. She kills in order to eat, she eats in order to survive. It is simply her nature. 

As the days passed, their insults took on a new form. It’s as if they were speaking directly to her rather than the idea of her they’d conjured. 

“Abomination,” they would shout. “Whore! Mother of Whores! Mother of Lies!” They would often say. “Die! Die and return to hell!” 

Words are wind, Daenerys reminds herself every time but those words hold more weight than “demoness” and “murderer” for a reason she can’t begin to understand. She felt physically hurt when they first said it, and it bewilders her because in her lifetime she’s had worse said to her, even worse has been done to her. 

And yet…

“My queen,” Grey Worm says. 

Glancing up at him, Daenerys sees his concern and his fear as clear as a fine day in his eyes. Missandei wears a similar expression.

Daenerys’s claws and fangs extended without her notice. 

How strange. She isn’t hungry, she isn’t sexually aroused, and she isn’t angry or prepared to attack or defend herself so why is this happening? 

Daenerys retracts her fangs and claws. “Forgive me,” she says, too ashamed to meet their gazes. “I must feed again. Excuse me.” 

She fed a little more than an hour ago, and she doesn’t require any more blood but she goes to where she keeps the wealthy slavers she abducts for solely food purposes. To get to them, she has to pass the upper courtyard; she has to hear the protesting crowd. They're singing a song now about the Silver Demon wearing the Harpy’s mask to fool them but will devour them once they’re sleeping. 

Now she has a song about her, though, it isn’t the first song composed for her. But those songs were sung by love-struck fools and men who desired her body. There is no love or admiration in this song. 

Try as she might to drown out their voices, they’re all she hears as she makes her way down the wide, stone corridor. Her time in Mereen has come to an end, she thinks. On the morrow, she and her friends will leave this place—this wretched place full of ungrateful, fickle humans who dare to make demands of her. These rodents, these piss ants, these—

Staggering, she touches the cool stone walls for support and closes her eyes to stop her world from spinning. She’s suddenly starving, no she’s ravenous. All she can think about is feasting on blood, their blood, and the blood of every human in this damned place. 

She could crush them all easily and gorge on their blood and their flesh, and move throughout the city like the Goddess of Death, killing everything in her path. They call her demoness and murderer. Perhaps it’s time she gives them what they’ve been crying out for. It’s the human’s fault that the war broke out and Jacaerys was taken from her, after all. It’s all their fault that she’s had to endure centuries without him. 

Daenerys’s claws extend and her body is filled with renewed strength. The darkness consumes her, her vision blackening along with her heart, and she surrenders to its warm embrace. In the darkness, there is no pain, longing, or sadness. In the darkness, she’s free and weightless. She doesn’t have to feel anymore. 

“My queen,” she thinks she hears someone saying followed by a terrifying shriek. “Please! No!” the person begs, sounding like Missandei. 

Daenerys can’t know for certain. Everything is black and the blood is too sweet for her to care. 

She simply doesn’t care anymore.

  
-o0o-

  
Hours pass.

Perhaps maybe days or weeks, Daenerys is uncertain at first. The stench of blood is heavy in the air, suggesting that she was asleep for a couple of hours. She sits up in her bed, only to discover that she isn’t in her bed at all. 

She’s on the cold, stone floor, her gown red with blood, torn limbs and corpses surrounding her. 

Eyes pricking with tears, she staggers to her feet and stares out the arch door of the pyramid where the dirt streets are covered in bodies; in the bodies of the poor who were protesting for weeks. They were all dead, flies buzzing about their corpses. The bodies stretch on for miles and there's a stillness over the city. There isn't a mother crying, or a child screaming. It's just quiet. Did she wipe out the entire city? Surely not. There are millions in Meereen. She couldn't have killed that many. Perhaps the others are simply hiding from her. Yes, that's what's happening. They're hiding because they truly fear her now. 

“I…no,” she cries, unwilling to accept that she did this. “I...Missandei?!” she shouts, looking around frantically. “Grey Worm?!” She uses her heightened speed to search through the piles of bodies outside. “Missandei? Grey?” 

Daenerys doesn’t find them among the bodies of the old and the young. She returns to the pyramid, realizing that the shrine maidens are dead as well. She doesn’t linger to mourn them as she would’ve liked because she needs to at least know that Missandei and Grey Worm are alive. She couldn’t have killed them, she couldn’t. They mean so much to her. Without them, her loneliness would’ve swallowed her whole. 

_It did_, a voice in her head whispers, _the darkness did swallow you whole._

Daenerys ignores the voice. She doesn’t want to accept the truth laid out before her. How similar is this to Rhaegar’s descent? Her brother was irritable in the days prior, the smallest things got under his skin, and he told them that he found every way imaginable to blame humans for the deaths of Lyanna and Jacaerys. Didn’t she do the same before the darkness took her? 

“Missandei!” Daenerys screams, seeing the girl laid out on the floor in the main corridor, bleeding. Grey Worm is lying next to her, half shielding her body. Both of their heartbeats are faint. “Grey! I’m so sorry!” she cries, kneeling beside them. “I...I didn’t mean to…” 

Their hearts are still beating but not for long. Daenerys knows how death smells, and they’re beginning to smell of it. She uses her sharp nails to open her own wrist. 

“I’m so sorry,” she cries. She’s drunk so much blood that now she cries blood. It disgusts her. “Please, take my blood...” She opens her other wrist, feeding them both simultaneously. 

She’s never sired anyone successfully. All of her creations turned into wights, and if the same happens to them she’ll be devastated but she’ll have to kill them immediately. Overcome with sorrow and remorse, Daenerys chants the same spell her mother chanted when she created them as she gives them her blood; at least the parts she can remember. 

The more blood she gives, the weaker she becomes, but she doesn’t stop. 

“Take all of me,” she says, feeling herself fade, “until there’s nothing left. I don’t...I don’t want to live anymore after what I’ve done so take my life…” 

Daenerys faints soon after, her cheeks stained with blood tears and her heart immensely heavy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone confused, Rhaegar, Dany, and Viserys were the children of King Aerys and Queen Rhaella in Valyria. I set it up that it was still around and they ruled there over the other Valyrian houses but Aerys was overthrown and his family fled. There were dragons but due to a past war similar to the Dance (this is how the Targaryens came into power in Valyria) they were near extinction and the ones that were around were too small to ride but they were killed during this uprising leaving no dragons or eggs left in the world.
> 
> The Doom happened a decade after Aerys’s demise so Valyria is now a ruin. The Targ siblings were vampires for 30 years before they met Lyanna in King’s Landing. The war they keep talking about (more detail when Jon enters the story) is unique to this universe but not important to the central plot; which is more centered on the hunters. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm very excited about introducing Jon along with other characters. Especially the main villain! This story will take on a darker tone as it progresses. Just a warning. The tags have also been updated.


	5. Overture V

** _Winterfell - 1910 _ **

A sense of contentment clings to Rhaegar, overshadowing the immense sadness that once consumed him. At long last, he’s reconnected with his true mate, his Lyanna. 

She’s sleeping soundly against his chest, a bead of sweat on her brow, face flushed, and her body glowing. Very delicately, he traces the lines of her face with his index finger. Not to burn the image to his memory; he could never forget her, but to simply admire her beauty. 

He loved her the moment he saw her that day by the lake when he discovered that she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree. He feared his interest would develop into an obsession and he’d drain her in the end as he often did with humans who caught his eye. 

During the early years of the change, Rhaegar couldn’t fully trust himself; his nature. So with Lyanna, he kept their meetings short and never invited her to the estate they were living in until he was certain that his interest wasn’t tied to a desire to solely drink her blood. He soon realized he wanted every part of Lyanna, any part that she was willing to give. And as it turned out she was willing to give him everything. 

Rhaegar can sense sunrise approaching though the sky is dark and the air is still. Her mother hasn’t stirred a peep, but he knows the woman will be up with the sun. He kisses Lyanna’s shoulder and whispers her name. Her eyes flutter open instantly, his light sleeper. 

“Good morning,” he says quietly, still touching her face. 

Lyanna smiles at him but says nothing. She moves on top of him, the sheets pooling around her waist, her breast and flat stomach bare to him. He smiles up at her, allowing her to take his cock into a firm grip and place herself on it. She’s wetter than she was last night and just as tight. As he expected, Lyanna has shed her shyness already. She rides him, taking her pleasure until the sky turns twilight then bright with the rising sun and light bleeds through the curtains. 

“I want to get married,” Lyanna says post-release. She lays on his chest and he strokes her hair and back. “We can live here for a time before my mother…” 

Just as Rhaegar can sense the sunrise approaching or tell when a fledgling is near, he knows when death is around the corner. He isn’t sure why or how that’s possible. It’s just one of the many things that he and his siblings can do. 

Lyanna’s mother has less than a year left to live. Her blood has lost its appeal, and he doubts a fledgling would feed on her even if they were dying from thirst. 

“I know you hate places like this,” Lyanna continues. “But I’m all my mother has and-” 

“Lyanna I would love to marry you and make a home with you here in this drab place until you’re ready to leave.” Rhaegar kisses her temple. “Shall I ask your mother for your hand sometime today?” 

“Yes even though you already know what my answer will be and our wedding night has been spoiled we should do it the right way.” 

“How has our wedding night been spoiled? I can have you a thousand times over and will never tire of you.” 

“But you will grow wary of my humanity. I know you intend to turn me this time.” 

Rhaegar wanted to turn her last night but the witch suggested they wait until after Jacaerys is born to ensure the reincarnation cycle isn’t tampered with. In his past life, their son was a half-breed so he needs to be a half-breed this time around as well. 

“We will discuss your transition after Jacaerys is born.” Rhaegar’s ears perk. Her mother is up and moving around the house. “As for the topic of marriage, I will handle everything. Leave it to me.” 

Lyanna hears her mother soon after, and it’s a hilarious sight, seeing her jump out of bed and mouth at him to “be quiet” as if she isn’t the only one making noise. Hurriedly, she moves around the room, gathering his clothes and throwing them at him while he smiles all the while. Rhaegar dresses quickly. She hands him his coat and he slings it over one arm. 

“I’ll be by later to speak with your mother,” he says as he’s being shoved out the window. “May I have a kiss before you throw me out, my love?” 

Lyanna gives him a soft peck on the cheek and before Rhaegar can ask for a little more, Lyarra is calling for Lyanna to wake up and start the day. 

“You can have all the kisses you want later,” Lyanna promises him. 

“I will hold you to that.” 

* * *

As promised Rhaegar pays them a visit in the afternoon. While he and her mother speak in the den, Lyanna prepares tea and puts some biscuits and cookies on a tray for appearance’s sake. She tries not to eavesdrop but damn her curiosity. 

“This is all very sudden,” she hears her mother say after Rhaegar makes his intentions clear. “May I ask how long you’ve known my daughter?” 

“Admittedly, I’ve known your daughter less than a fortnight but it feels as if I’ve known her all of my life, and I’m not saying that because it sounds pretty, I assure you.” There’s a smile in his voice that Lyanna is sure her mother is smitten by. 

Still, her mother has enough wits about her to ask the important question. “Do you love my daughter?” 

Lyanna’s breath catches in her throat as if she doesn’t already know his answer. If she hadn’t regained her memories of her past life, she would’ve had her doubts because they’ve only known each other for a short time. But even when she was sneaking off to see him every night, it felt as if everything in her life finally made sense. 

Granted, she’s not quite the same as she used to be and there’ll be new things for them to learn about one another, but they at least know the important things. 

“I am in love with Lyanna,” Rhaegar answers, his words honest, sincere, and so passionate that Lyanna wishes she could take him back to her room for another round of bed sport.

The sound of the whistling tea kettle drowns out her mother’s response. Lyanna doesn’t make eye contact with Rhaegar or her mother as she sits the tray on the coffee table. She sits down next to her mother who is staring at Rhaegar. 

“I will be frank, Mr. Targaryen,” Lyarra starts. “Lyanna has very recently lost her fiancé in a tragic incident and now you have come to ask for her hand in marriage. The town is sure to stir up unsightly rumors about my daughter if she were to be engaged again so soon.” 

“To hell with the town,” Lyanna says. Her mother nudges her in the side, and Lyanna apologizes for her language. “The town will gossip regardless, Mother. There’s nothing to be done about it.” 

Rhaegar’s face remains still but his eyes smile. “It is not my intention to sully Lyanna’s name in any way, Miss. If you would prefer that I wait to ask for her hand I will gladly wait.” 

Lyanna doesn’t want to wait. She wants to be Rhaegar’s wife today so that they can live together without her mother worrying about her honor or anything like that. She wants them to start their family and have back all that they’ve lost in her last lifetime.

But she understands her mother’s worries. The people of Winterfell are a judgy bunch who know how to suck the fun and happiness out of everything. 

“It would be cruel of me to deny you both of that. You are in love with my daughter and I can tell she’s quite taken with you as well.” Lyarra looks between Rhaegar and Lyanna, her eyes crinkling as she smiles. “I made the mistake of putting my own well-being over her happiness once. Perhaps this is my chance to make amends. You two have my blessing.” 

Rhaegar breaks out into a wide smile. “Thank you, Miss Lyarra. You can’t know how happy that makes me.” 

“Oh I can tell,” her mother says laughing. 

Lyanna hugs her mother, not caring about Rhaegar seeing that side of her. She used to hide parts of herself from Robert and other men who sought her favor but she never had to do that around him. He knows all of her sides and loves each of them. 

“Thank you, mother.” 

Lyarra returns her hug. Then she turns to Rhaegar. “Well, where’s the ring? Put it on her!” 

Of course, Rhaegar already has the ring. He’s always prepared. 

When he takes out the wooden box, Lyanna is hit with a wave of nostalgia. She remembers he presented that same box to her centuries ago when they were in Dorne. Inside the box is the same ring he placed on her finger when he asked her to be his wife back then; a silver band with a medium-sized, square-cut ruby. The ring once belonged to his mother. 

“Oh, how lovely,” Lyarra says as Rhaegar puts the ring on Lyanna’s right hand. “However, it’s the wrong hand, sir.” 

“Right hand is the Valyrian custom,” Lyanna says without thinking, staring at the ring. She glances at Rhaegar, at his lips, and has to stop herself from kissing him. Instead, she smiles. “It’s beautiful.” 

Rhaegar keeps hold of her hand, clasping it delicately. “I’m happy you think so.” He appears to be thinking the same thing as Lyanna. The air between them is stifling. 

Lyarra clears her throat. “Perhaps you could schedule a dinner with your family so that we may become more familiar with one another. I would love to meet the parents who raised such a fine gentleman.” 

“My parents passed years ago, I fear. All I have are my siblings.” 

“Poor things. I’m very sorry to hear that. Well, I would love to meet them. How soon can you arrange that?” 

“My sister is traveling. My brother, however, is here.” Rhaegar doesn’t like the idea of bringing Viserys to meet Lyarra but he won’t outright say that. 

Lyarra stands. “I would love to have you both over for dinner. Tonight. We’re going to be family very soon, after all.” 

Rhaegar’s smile is tight but only Lyanna notices. “My brother and I will be more than happy to join you both for dinner.” 

* * *

“I would rather shove a horned melon up my ass,” Viserys said when Rhaegar informed him of the dinner invitation. 

It took a lot of persuasions and promises to get his brother to agree in the end, but Rhaegar managed. Besides, Viserys enjoys dressing up for dinner parties and the like, though, dinner at the Stark residence pales in comparison to the grand dinners his siblings used to host for the thrill of butchering the guests while they dined on their food. 

Rhaegar was sure to give Viserys “the talk” before they departed from the manor as well. His brother gets a kick out of taunting humans and being outright rude because he can easily compel them to forget the entire exchange. But tonight they are to behave like normal men. 

“How boring,” Viserys says. They’re in the carriage, heading to the Stark residence. Arthur is serving as their driver for this evening since Viserys fed on their coachman out of boredom just earlier that day. “I’ve been bored since we came here. Please tell me we can leave soon.” 

“I will stay and you should go to Meereen. Dany shouldn’t be alone.” Rhaegar never wanted her to leave but after rejecting her he didn’t want to try to make her stay while she was so furious. 

Viserys stares out the small window. “I sent her two ravens this past week and she hasn’t responded. I’m worried.” 

That’s news to Rhaegar. He assumed Dany was doing fine because Viserys didn’t tell him otherwise. He frowns deeply. 

“Why didn’t you say so sooner? Anything could’ve happened to-” 

The sudden flutter of wings draws his attention to the window closest to Viserys. A black raven with red eyes materializes from outside to inside the carriage in a cloud of black smoke. Rhaegar assumes their sister has perfect timing, that she’s finally returning Viserys messages. That is until the raven opens its mouth and speaks with a stranger’s voice. 

“Please, Queen Daenerys is in trouble,” a young woman says in a quiet, anxious voice. “The hunters are in the city and she won’t wake up. Please! Come quickly! We’re trapped in the pyramid!” 

The raven disappears. 

Viserys hits the roof of the carriage and shouts at Arthur to take them to White Harbour. Rhaegar hits the roof again and tells the man to continue to the Stark residence. 

“You heard the raven!” Viserys shouts. “Daenerys is in trouble! Fuck the bloody dinner!” 

“I’m not going to the bloody dinner!” Rhaegar shouts back, his words tinged with a growl. “Lyanna needs to know why I’m leaving so suddenly!” He can’t leave without a word or a trace after proposing to her, after what they did last night. It’ll break her heart. “And we won’t be traveling by ship. It’ll take too long.” 

Viserys settles back down in his seat, his hands nervously thrumming on his thighs. “You intend for us to use magic? Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” 

For witches and warlocks transporting to great distances in a blink of an eye requires but a portion of energy, but for them, it takes most of what they have. Rhaegar thinks it’s because of their mother’s magic being split between the three of them that has limited their magical abilities.

“We’ll have to blink there, get Dany, and blink back,” Rhaegar says, seeing Lyanna’s house approaching. “We won’t be strong enough to fight off the hunters.” The fucking rodents. Gods he hates the hunters. 

“Do you think she entered her dark state?” 

“Let us hope not.” Because she’s been holding it all in for centuries so she’s sure to rampage for far longer than he had. “The humans she took in appear to be alive. Well, one of them at least. So I doubt she’s in her dark state.” 

It would appear their sister was wise enough to teach the humans how to send ravens to them in case of an emergency. 

“Yet,” Viserys says grimly. 

Rhaegar wonders if this is all his fault. Had he just accepted Dany’s offer until Lyanna was eighteen—no, he did the right thing. It would have been cruel to cast Dany aside for Lyanna when his sister would still have to wait two more decades for her own mate. He did the right thing by never starting a physical relationship with her. Still, he blames himself for letting her leave. 

“You could stay here with Lyanna,” Viserys says, assuming Rhaegar is thinking something along those lines. “I can get Dany on my own.” 

“I’m not abandoning our sister to the wretched hunters. Lyanna will understand.” 

“I know how long you’ve waited to be with her again and now that you two are finally reunited you have to leave her to-” 

“Family first.” Rhaegar looks his brother in the eye when he says it so that the man will never make the mistake of questioning his loyalty again. “I love Lyanna more than my own life. However, she can be reincarnated, my siblings can’t.” 

Viserys says nothing else on the matter.

* * *

It’s the most effort Lyanna has ever put into household duties. 

She cleaned the house despite it already being cleaned, went into town for fresh ingredients for dinner despite knowing Rhaegar and Viserys aren't fond of human food either way, and she even took out their fine china and polished it and the silverware. 

Lyarra made japes about how finally Lyanna was shaping into a fine housewife, and Lyanna held her tongue because she’s in a good mood. She’s just excited about having her fiancé and his brother over for dinner even though she worries about the latter as he’s always been unpredictable. But Viserys is kinder than he gives himself credit for. Well, sometimes. 

In her bedroom, she fixes herself in the vanity mirror, making sure her hair is in order; the ringlets are piled on top of her head with a few curls dangling and framing her face. Her dress is a dark red with a lace bodice and a high collar, black crystals are sewn into the skirt. 

She remembers Rhaegar telling her how well his family’s ancestral colors suited her so she chose the dress for that very reason. 

Lyanna is adding the finishing touches to her face when she hears her window opening. 

Rhaegar lets himself in. He’s as dashing as ever in a semi-formal dinner suit, his long hair split down the middle without a hair out of place. 

“Have you come early for kisses?” Lyanna asks, getting up to greet him. “I just painted my lips so you’re out of luck.” She’s teasing. She doesn’t mind painting her lips again. 

Rhaegar’s eyes dance over her form, taking in everything. “You’re beautiful, Lyanna. You breathe life into those old colors.” He looks her in the eye, his own eyes glossy. “Will you wear this dress again for me when I return?” 

Lyanna’s smile falters. “You’re leaving…”

“Daenerys is in trouble. Viserys and I will bring her back here. We won’t be gone long.” 

_Daenerys is in trouble_, is the only thing Lyanna heard. 

“Go to her,” she says. “I’ll be here when you return.”

“Lyanna, I’m sorr-“

“For what? Family comes first, I remember.” Their mother made Rhaegar swear to protect his siblings always and the man takes the oath seriously, Lyanna knows. She loves how loyal and protective he is. “Save Daenerys and all of you come back. That’s all that I ask.”

Rhaegar cups her face and kisses her as though this goodbye was permanent, and for a moment that frightens Lyanna. But then she realizes that the past still haunts him. He lost her once and he doesn’t want to lose her again. 

“I will be fine, Rhaegar.” 

“I know. I’m leaving Arthur with you.” He takes her by the hand and leads her to the window. “Arthur’s life is tied to mine. If I….perish so will he.”

Lyanna looks down at the tall, tanned man with his long black hair. He looks up at them, his purple eyes set in contrast against his skin. He’s as tall as Rhaegar but broader, his white dress shirt fits a tad too snug. There’s a look about him that reminds her of the men Robert used to hang around. This man, Arthur, has blood on his hands. But Rhaegar trusts him enough to leave her in the man’s care. 

“I don’t know how I’ll explain this to my mother but I can think of something.” Lyanna can imagine the woman’s reaction to the news of Rhaegar’s sudden departure and the appearance of Arthur. “You let me worry about that. You should get going.” 

Rhaegar suggests compelling her mother to forget about the dinner, and to believe Arthur is an old family friend visiting for some time but Lyanna refuses. She never liked the idea of tampering with people’s minds and she won’t allow it to be done to her mother. 

They share another kiss that’s sweet and far too short before Rhaegar leaves out the window. She watches him speak with Arthur quietly, watches him cup the man’s face with one hand and sees how Arthur leans into the touch. 

The gesture bothers her though she can’t say why that is. She knows Rhaegar is a faithful man. But she’s beginning to wonder how long Arthur has been in the picture, what’s his value and purpose. 

Rhaegar spares a final glance in her direction before he disappears into the night. When Arthur looks up at Lyanna an uncomfortable shiver passes through her. No one has ever looked at her so coldly.

* * *

_ **Meereen - 1910** _

“My Queen…please…” A heavy tear drops on her face, the warmth of the liquid startles her awake. “Please, please wake up…” She blinks her eyes open and sees Missandei crying over her, two elongated fangs protruding from her mouth. “They’re almost inside…” 

Daenerys sits up suddenly, the world spinning around her, and takes hold of Missandei by the arms. “It worked?” she asks, astonished. “I successfully sired you?” She looks around for Grey Worm. 

It’s dark where they are but even in her weakened state, she can see well enough. The man is leaning against the door, holding on to a spear with an iron grip. They’re inside the lower tomb, she realizes from the drawings on the walls and the gold plated sarcophagi lined in rows.

“You must feed,” Missandei says, offering her arm to Daenerys. “Please, you need your strength. The hunters are here.” 

At the mention of feeding, Daenerys’s throat begins to burn and tighten. Gods, she’s ravenous and Missandei’s blood does smell sweeter than it ever has now. One drop of it should do, just a little taste. 

“No,” she says, shaking her head, “I nearly took your life. Grey’s as well. I will never feed on you two again. I’m so sorry for stealing your lives.” 

They were still so young, their life full of endless possibilities, and she snatched away any hope they might’ve had at a normal, wholesome life. Missandei will never be able to bear children as she’s a turned vampire rather than a pureblood, and Grey Worm will never be able to sire children. She’s stolen their futures. 

“We were nothing before you saved us,” Grey Worm says, walking over to them. He offers her his arm as well. “Now we are something. We need our queen to be strong or we will all die.” 

Outside the thick walls of the tomb, Daenerys can hear the hunters moving throughout the pyramid, searching for them. It sounds as if there are at least thirty of them. They’ve grown in numbers it would seem. How dreadful. 

“How long was I out?” she asks. She wants to know how long the transition took them. 

“A full day. The hunters showed up hours ago.” Missandei slices her wrist open with her newly sharpened claws. “Drink,” she says, no longer asking nicely. 

With the scent of blood in the air and her hunger overtaking her, Daenerys loses the battle. There’s nothing else to feed on and she needs enough strength to blink them out of there. The swift transportation will weaken her greatly but it’ll be worth it. She drinks from Missandei and Grey Worm, her tired bones filling with life and renewed purpose. 

As she’s standing to her feet, the pyramid rumbles from an explosion in the distance followed by the sound of rock crumbling. The door to the tomb thuds and shakes and Daenerys is startled that the hunters possess weapons strong enough to do such a thing. They’re trying to break the door down. At this rate, they’ll succeed. 

“Quickly,” Daenerys says, opening her arms for them. “Hold on to me-” 

With her heightened hearing, she picks up on an incantation being uttered by one of the hunters right before the stone door of the tomb is blasted open, sending large stones and a cloud of grey smoke flying at them. 

Daenerys now understands why the hunters always know when to show up, why they’re so efficient, and dangerous. The sons of bitches are using magic. 

Grey Worm moves in front of her and Missandei. She shouts at him to stay back but he’s hit in the chest with a bullet before his brain can process the command. He falls to the ground, twitching, and coughing up black blood. A hunter, dressed in black from head to toe, appears out of the smoke, wielding a double-barreled shotgun. 

He lunges at Daenerys and she claws at his neck and rips his throat out. Another hunter rushes in right after him, aiming his gun at Daenerys. He isn’t close enough for her to claw at his neck and she isn’t foolish enough to get too close to him as she’s sure there are more hunters lying in wake. 

The hunter doesn’t shoot her immediately which is strange. In fact, it’s almost as if he’s waiting for something. Backup possibly? For her to make a move? Odd as the thought may be, Daenerys even wonders if the hunter intends to capture her. But why? 

Missandei is kneeling down, cradling Grey Worm’s head and urging him to hold on. Daenerys thinks of using all of her energy to send them somewhere safe and sacrificing herself for them. 

It’s what a queen would do. A queen protects those in her care. 

She’s opening her mouth to begin the spell when two hunters are sent flying in her direction, their hearts ripped out of their chests. The hunter who had his gun trained on her turns his head to see the approaching enemy and has his head swiped clean off in the same instance. 

Daenerys’s eyes water at the sight of her brothers. 

Rhaegar and Viserys rush in without a word, the former pulls her into his arms, holding her close while the latter takes hold of Missandei and Grey Worm. The language of Old Valyria is uttered simultaneously in hurried voices. In a blink, they’re all whisked away from the tomb and the pack of murderous hunters. 

Their destination is Winterfell. 

Well, at least that’s where they intended to go. But transportation spells are a tricky thing. They end up further away from Meereen, however. Further away from civilization. Jumping from one place to another back to back leaves her brothers weakened so they’re incapable of making another jump so soon.

Missandei finds shelter for them in an abandoned mud house where the woman removes the bullet from Grey Worm’s chest to stop the poison from spreading and Daenerys gives him some of her blood to heal him fully. While he sleeps, Missandei sits beside him on the dirt floor. 

Daenerys doesn’t let Rhaegar go and vice versa and Viserys stays close to them, the three of them huddled in the corner. Being here, in this unknown place, while in their weakened states, is far from ideal but at the very least they’re together again. 

* * *

_ **Winterfell - 1910** _

Truth be told, Arthur never intended to end up in White Harbour. His intentions had been to board a ship set for Oldtown instead, but in his haste to flee his former contractor he hid on the first ship he saw, leaving behind the last of his belongings; a dagger with a jeweled pommel, a cloak with his family’s crest sewn into the breast, and a couple of gold coins. 

He arrived at the port town with nothing but the clothes on his back and was seeking easy work by the docks to afford a meal and a place to sleep when Viserys approached him. His very first thought was that he’d never seen anyone or anything so beautiful. Still, he’d stared at himself in the mirror long enough to recognize a cold-blooded killer. 

On instinct, he resisted the man and even tried to fight him off but soon his body betrayed him, and he did as Viserys said. He and the others were taken to a plush suite where Viserys inspected them as though they were goods on the flesh market before ushering them, one by one, into the adjoining room. 

When it was Arthur’s turn, he half-expected a woman to be waiting on the other side, assuming she was some wealthy heiress in search of a fun time or maybe even a wealthy couple. 

There were no words to describe Rhaegar or the way Arthur’s entire body responded to the sight of him. After being disinherited and shamed by his father, he thought himself dead. He was just a dead man walking, talking, drinking, fighting, and fucking. Nothing worthy of the air he breathed. 

But then when Rhaegar ran his hand down Arthur’s abdomen and licked his neck before biting into him, Arthur felt alive again. He thought that Rhaegar would do more than feed from him. He’d hoped the man would use him in other ways, as shameful as that was. His father told him he was a disgrace for his "queer" preferences, and perhaps the man was right.

A lot of Dornish men bedded other men but not many of them fell in love with other men as Arthur had. They didn't want men to fill in a wife's role. Arthur lost his inheritance because he chose love over his family, and that love left him once he had nothing left to his name. 

All Rhaegar wanted from him was a sleep companion, someone to stay close to him throughout his slumber. And Arthur fell into his duty without complaint. Rhaegar gave him some of his blood, uttered some sort of spell over him, and ordered Arthur to serve him and his family faithfully until the end. And Arthur fell into that duty without complaint as well. He’s always been the dutiful and honorable sort, he likes to think. 

He was startled and vexed by Rhaegar’s request for him to stay behind with Lyanna, however. For starters, his place is by his Master’s side; he wants to be near Rhaegar. The other cause for his vexation was his utter dislike for the woman, Lyanna. He wouldn’t admit to himself that it was jealousy that made him dislike her because that would’ve been him admitting that he’d somehow fallen in love with Rhaegar. 

Even though it was quite obvious that was the case. 

The first couple of weeks they kept their distance from one another. He remained in the guest room and only came out to escort her into town. They never spoke a word to each other, though, the silence was never unpleasant. 

It was difficult coming up with a solid excuse for Rhaegar’s sudden disappearance and the need for Arthur to stay with them to answer her mother’s incessant questioning, but by the second week the topic was no longer brought up. It didn’t hurt that Rhaegar made an arrangement with the bank after asking for Lyanna’s hand in marriage. He had an account opened for her and money deposited to cover her mother’s medical bills and any other expenses his fiancé may have. 

Despite the medical bills being covered and Lyarra’s frequent visits with a doctor, she became permanently bedridden by the third week. It was during that same week that Lyanna was outside folding freshly dried bedsheets when she fainted.

The family physician paid her a visit and asked her to come in the next day for some tests. That was how Lyanna learned she was carrying Rhaegar’s child. 

Arthur listened to her cry that night. 

He didn’t eavesdrop. It’s just that his hearing is as good as Rhaegar’s, that’s all. He often heard a lot of things he tried not to hear. Lyanna crying, Lyanna muttering Rhaegar’s name in her sleep, and Lyanna’s moans when she touched herself. 

For a time, he thought the woman was cold and distant. He couldn’t see why Rhaegar was so in love with such a painfully boring and uninteresting woman. Then he got to know Lyanna for himself, and his opinion of her changed drastically. 

She isn’t cold. She’s strong and willful and carries the weight of her duties gracefully. She’s far from uninteresting and boring. Her sense of humor is wicked, vulgar even, and she knows more about rifles, horses, and bear traps than most people. She’s also beautiful, kind, and caring. Everything Rhaegar said about her during his nightly rambles became clear to Arthur over time. 

They have no choice but to spend more time together with her mother clinging to life and her belly growing bigger with each week. Her mother was initially disappointed by the news of her daughter being pregnant and unmarried but soon the house is filled with happy baby preparations. Arthur spends one afternoon looking through photo albums with Lyarra and listening to the woman’s fond stories about raising her children alongside her late husband. 

He accompanies Lyanna to her doctor’s visits, goes into town for her when she's too sick to do so, and helps her with chores around the house. They talk often about different things. Lyanna never pries though it's obvious she wants to, and if he's in a good mood, he’ll share something about himself that not many people know. In return, she shares things about herself as well. 

One night, she tells him about her past life. 

“How strange,” Arthur says once she's finished telling him about her time as a mystery knight. “I used to dream that I was a knight too.” There was a time when the dreams came to him nightly but the older he got, the dreams came less and less. “Sword of the Dawn, I think I called myself.” Perhaps it was something else. He can't remember. 

Lyanna smiles at him, her face full from the baby weight. “Rhaegar sure loves his knights,” she says teasingly. She rubs her stomach, staring down at it. “Do you want to feel him kick?”

“You seem certain that it’s a boy.” He touches her belly, realizing too late that it's the first time he’s ever touched her deliberately. She shivers and he looks at her. “Sorry.” 

“No, it’s okay. I just…” Lyanna shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. Here.” She presses his hand down harder on her stomach. 

Feeling a small ripple against his palm, Arthur laughs. “The boy’s already a tough one. Not that I’m surprised.” 

“Do you think Rhaegar will be back before he’s born?” 

Arthur often wonders the same. Five months have passed without a word from the man. He's alive because Arthur's alive, and that's all they have to go off of. 

“Nothing will keep Rhaegar away from you,” Arthur says. 

Lyanna’s eyes waters and she looks away from him sharply. 

That night Arthur listens to her cry as she touches herself, and fights the urge to offer her comfort. Her crying is becoming frequent these days as well as her yearning. She spends her mornings staring out the window, waiting for Rhaegar to appear out of thin air. Her nights are spent crying out for him. It's maddening for her and for Arthur. 

Soon Lyanna stops shedding tears for Rhaegar but for her mother. 

Six months after Rhaegar’s departure, Lyarra Stark passes away in her sleep. Lyanna finds her in bed and sits beside her for hours in shock before Arthur comes for her. Her brothers come to town for the funeral. And what a shit show that is. 

They're upset that Lyanna is pregnant by a man who didn't have the decency to wed her beforehand, they assume Arthur is her new lover, and that their sister’s honor had been besmirched yet again. Arthur doesn't like the insults they're throwing out in regards to Rhaegar and neither does Lyanna. 

In the end, Lyanna puts her foot down. 

In so many words, she tells her brothers that her life is her own and that they have no business trying to control her. They swear they will return when it's time to decide what they will do with the family home and that she'll be leaving with either of them one way or another. Her brothers weren't saying anything Lyanna hasn't heard already. The entire city has been whispering about her pregnancy and her "foreign" companion.

Whenever they went into town, Lyanna did a fine job of ignoring people for the most part, but there were a few instances when she gave some of them a piece of her mind. But her brothers were the last straw. 

The day after her brothers depart, Lyanna and Arthur clean the house, cover the furniture in sheets, and leave Winterfell for the countryside. Using some of the money Rhaegar placed in her account, she purchases a small, three-bedroom cottage. 

A great storm descends on them their first week in the cottage. Heavy rain slaps against the cottage for days on end. It's a good thing they're stocked up on food and other necessities because a ride into town is well over an hour. One night, when the wind is howling something fierce, Arthur goes to Lyanna’s bedroom against his better judgment. He’s grown tired of listening to her cry; listening to her suffer. 

Lyanna is so sick with grief that she doesn't try to pretend as if his comfort is unwanted. She allows him to hold her, and that's all he does despite his desire to do more for her. He wonders when he started to love her just as much as he loves Rhaegar. He wonders if it's possible or even sane to be in love with two people who are unobtainable. 

Most of all he wonders if Rhaegar will ever return. 

He’s beginning to have his doubts. 

* * *

_ **Winterfell - 1914** _

Hidden by the thick forestry, Rhaegar watches them with a mixture of elation and envy. 

As expected, Arthur hasn’t changed at all over the years. The only difference is that his fine black hair is now cut short and tapered on the sides. He’s still strikingly handsome, he still manages to make Rhaegar’s dead heart pound in his chest. 

What Rhaegar didn’t expect was to see Arthur running around the yard playing with his son, Jacaerys. The boy is just as he remembers. Grey eyes similar to his mother’s, a head full of dark curls, a spitting image of Rhaegar as a youth aside from the hair and eye color, energetic, and bright. 

Unbiddenly, a smile appears on Rhaegar’s face at the sight of the boy outrunning Arthur and cheering for his own accomplishment. Gods, he never imagined Lyanna would be with a child so soon. In the past, it took years for them to conceive. Naturally, he assumed the same would happen this time around. 

On top of that, Daenerys didn’t sense Jacaerys’s birth so none of them had any idea he was reborn. Then again, his sister has been in and out of a deep slumber for the past four years. Another state of darkness seized her shortly after the first, and it was bloodier. The years have not been good to any of them. If it wasn’t their vampiric nature or hunters finding them at every turn, it was life’s surprises hindering his return to Winterfell. 

All that matters now is that they have returned. The others are waiting for him in White Harbour. Rhaegar doesn’t intend to stay here long. 

“Dinner is ready!” 

Rhaegar’s eyes prick with tears at the sound of Lyanna. She walks around the cottage, looking as beautiful as she did the day he left, a grin on her face as she kneels down with open arms. Jacaerys bounces into her arms, telling her about how he beat Arthur in their race. Lyanna laughs and congratulates him. Arthur walks up, and the way Lyanna looks at the man, her eyes filled with fondness, makes Rhaegar bare his fangs possessively. 

Blinking, he closes his mouth and shakes his head. He was gone for four years. Lyanna lost her mother and was carrying his child without any comfort or support from him. Of course, she and Arthur are close now. 

But how close are they? 

Jacaerys turns his head and looks in the direction of where Rhaegar is standing. It’s as if the boy is looking right at him. Arthur catches it and follows the child’s gaze. The man whispers something to Lyanna. 

Without turning her head to see what the fuss is about, she gathers Jacaerys in her arms and hurries inside the cottage with him. Once they’re out of sight, Arthur approaches the trees. 

“I told you that the next time you came around here it would be your last time,” Arthur says. He moves with a great speed and dashes into the trees, his large hand extended to more than likely rip someone’s throat out. At the sight of Rhaegar, he stops himself mid-attack and drops to one knee, his head bowed. “Master," he says reverently. 

Rhaegar gestures for Arthur to stand. “Arthur, it’s been too long.” He gives the man a once over. The haircut suits him well. “Who did you think I was?”

Arthur smiles, his eyes crinkling, and Rhaegar knows that whatever feelings the man had for him before he left are still present. “Another pesky suitor. Men from all over the neighboring cities come out here asking for an audience with Lyanna.” 

Lyanna was claimed by a vampire and she gave birth to a half-breed, meaning now she has stronger pheromones that make her all the more appealing to humans. Fledglings will know she’s off-limits but humans don’t understand how their hierarchy works. 

“I see you’ve kept my family safe,” he says. He wishes there was another way to express his sincere gratitude. “Thank you so much, Arthur.” 

“Of course, Master.” 

Rhaegar wants Arthur to call him by his name but he doesn’t say so. “The others are at White Harbour. I want you to go there and wait for us to join you all. Please make sure the ship is ready to set sail and all is in order. I can’t trust Viserys with this task, you see.” 

Missandei and Grey Worm have proven themselves capable and responsible on multiple occasions and they can easily do this task on their own. It’s just that Rhaegar wants this reunion all to himself. Perhaps the sight of Arthur blending in with his mate and son so easily irritates him more than he’s putting on. 

Arthur nods; obedient as ever. “As you command.” 

The man is so loyal and sincere that Rhaegar almost feels bad for sending him away because of his own pride. One day he will show his thanks to Arthur for all that he's done. One day soon. 

* * *

“When will Arthur be back?” Jacaerys asks. Her son has asked about the man thrice already since he missed dinner to take a trip to town for some mysterious reason. “I want him to tell me about the Dorniss sailor again!” 

Lyanna tucks Jacaerys into bed, smiling. “You’ve heard the story about the Dornish sailor too many times to count. Why do you like that story so much?” 

“I want to be a sailor when I grow up!” he declares. 

Last month, he wanted to be a wolf who ran in the woods all night and ate whatever he wanted. The month before that he wanted to grow up and marry a warrior princess with long, flowy hair and a longsword. Now he wants to be a sailor when he grows up. She wonders what he’ll want to be next month. 

“Then you will be a sailor,” Lyanna says, always indulging him in his dreams. “First, you have to get lots of sleep or you’ll be too tired to sail.” She kisses his forehead and tousles his curls. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the lake and I’ll show you how to row a boat.” 

Jacaerys’s eyes light up. In the dim lighting, they almost look purple. “Promise?” 

“I swear on my life.” 

He puts his small arms around her neck and hugs her with more strength than a four-year-old should possess. She tells him that she loves him, and he tells her he’s not a baby anymore. But when she’s turning to leave he whispers that he loves her too. 

Lyanna smiles to herself. 

She keeps his door cracked open just a peep and walks to her bedroom. She thinks of waiting up for Arthur to make sure all is well but decides against it. The man is more than capable of looking after himself, and she shouldn’t fret over him as though she were his keeper. Being a mother has made her overly protective, it would seem. 

Inside her bedroom, the curtains are blowing and there’s a chill in the air. The window was left open. Cursing under her breath, she hurries over to the window, shutting it and locking it. When she turns around, her heart nearly leaps out of her chest. 

“Seven hells,” she whispers at the sight of none other than Rhaegar. 

Rhaegar steps out of the shadows near the bedroom door, dressed in a long, sweeping black trench coat with only a red color peeking out. He steps toward her, slowly, like a predator. Her heart skips, heat pools in her belly. She hates how her body reacts to him even after all this time. 

“Lyanna,” he breathes, “the years have been good to you.” He skims his eyes over her thin, white nightgown. 

His eyes might as well been his hands what with the way her body tingles all over from his stare alone. She wants him badly, and she wants to send him away just as badly. 

“Where have you been?” she asks, hating how her voice trembles. “Four years, Rhaegar…” 

“I know,” he says, moving closer yet keeping distance still. “There were obstacles at every turn but I am here. I’ve come for you and our son.” 

“What if I have no desire to go with you?” 

Rhaegar smiles, taking another step forward. Their chests are a breath apart. “If you said that and meant it I might consider leaving without the both of you.” 

“You would consider it?” 

“Honestly, I wouldn’t.” He touches her hair gently, his eyes sad. “I fought tooth and nail to get back to you. The cursed hunters have multiplied and found better ways to kill us. I did not come here to leave empty-handed.” His gaze lifts to her face, his eyes hungry now. “I’m done waiting, Lyanna.” 

Lyanna presses her back against the wall. The closer she is to him, the harder it is to think. There’s something about his scent, his presence, and his voice that makes her knees weak and her core unbelievably hot. She didn’t realize how much she missed him. 

Closing his eyes, Rhaegar sniffs the air lightly. “As wet as you are, you still wish to deny me and yourself.” He smirks darkly, and for a moment she’s reminded of his true nature; the darkness of it. “You’re cruel, Lyanna.” 

Lyanna wishes she was truly cruel. 

If she were she would send him away and demand that he never return. But she sees no point in denying herself that which she’s been yearning for all of these years. She’s too overwhelmed to move away from the wall, and her legs are utterly useless, but she doesn't have to move. Once she mentally makes the decision, Rhaegar knows. He comes to her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her. She melts into him, allowing him to do as he pleases, embracing him fully. 

He wasn’t lying when he said he was tired of waiting. As he palms her breasts to ease the pain, he sinks his fangs into her neck and drinks all of her.

* * *

The same sensation from when they were outside earlier washes over Jacaerys, waking him out of his sleep. Rubbing his eyes with his fist, he adjusts them to the darkness in his room. Despite the closed windows and the lamp being turned off, he can see perfectly fine. His mother always tells him that he’s like his father in that regard but he doesn’t know what that means. 

He doesn’t even know his father. He used to think it was Arthur but his mother told him that Arthur was only a family friend and that his father would return one day soon. 

Climbing out of bed, Jacaerys grabs the slingshot off his bedside table and searches around his room for a pebble just in case. He finds two and clasps them in his fist. Creeping out of his bedroom, he looks toward the front door then down the hall to where his mother’s bedroom is. 

The sensation is strongest in the direction of his mother’s bedroom. He makes his way there. 

Hearing his mother’s cries, he loads one of the pebbles into the slingshot and walks down the hall quietly. His heart’s pounding, but not because he’s afraid. He doesn’t get afraid. Well, that’s what he likes to tell his mother so she won’t baby him. 

The closer he draws, the louder his mother’s cries grow. Her bedroom door is cracked, cool air wafting through it. Poking his head inside, he gasps at the sight of a man biting his mother’s neck. His mother’s head is hanging back, her eyes are rolled white, and she’s whimpering as though she were in pain. The man pulls away sharply, leaving a bloody gash on her neck. He’s saying something that Jacaerys can’t understand as he holds his wrist to her mouth. 

It’s difficult to tell what the man is doing so Jacaerys opens the door wider. At the sound of the faint squeak of the door, the man turns around and stares at him with scary glowing eyes. 

It’s not a man at all but a monster. His mouth and teeth are bloody, and his hands are like a wolf’s claws. 

The man frowns. “Jac-” His mouth snaps shut, his head whipping in the direction of the window. “Fuck,” he curses. 

Seconds later, the window shatters open and some kind of animal jumps in, snarling and snapping its teeth. The man places his mother on the bed, she’s still, lifeless. Dead.

Screaming, Jacaerys takes off running down the hallway, calling out for Arthur. He hears the animal attacking the man but he doesn’t turn around to see. He runs as fast as he can to the front door. 

The door opens before he can get to it. The suddenness of it sends him falling back hard on his bottom. Looking up through teary eyes, Jacaerys sees five men in black coats standing in the doorway, each of them holding large, leather bags. 

“Grab the boy,” the one in the front says. “Get him to safety.” 

From down the hall, a great roar can be heard, “No! Jacaerys run!” 

Everything inside of Jacaerys tells him to obey the command and run. He doesn’t understand it but his body seems to. He scrambles to his feet and runs. Three of the men in coats rush into his house, in the direction of his mother’s bedroom. One of the men by the door picks Jacaerys up and he fights them. 

“Careful,” the stranger says. “We’re here to help!” 

Jacaerys only stops fighting when he hears a bone-chilling scream and the sound of something cracking. One of the men who ran to his mother’s bedroom is sent flying into the den, their head missing. At the sight of it, Jacaerys is dropped to the floor. Instead of running, he stares at the headless man in shock. The two other men rush down the hall, guns drawn. 

Chaos. That’s what occurs next. Utter chaos. 

Another body is sent into the den, this time red and pink things are hanging from the man’s stomach and his neck looks as if a wolf bit into it. Jacaerys wets himself and cries and screams for his mother. He covers his ears to drown out the loud sound of the guns and the shouting. 

More men in black coats run into his home. At one point, it feels as if the cottage is full of them. Blood is splattered on the walls, bodies are thrown all around. The monster that killed his mother rushes out of the room, his mouth and hands bloody, his eyes set on Jacaerys. 

The monster runs toward him, his hands are outstretched. Jacaerys thinks the monster is going to kill him but one of the men shoots him. The pained sound the monster makes when it’s shot makes Jacaerys cry harder though he doesn’t understand why. That thing killed his mother and all of these men. He shouldn’t be sad about it being shot. It deserves to die.

Even with the bullet wound, the monster still tries to get its hands on him, his eyes glowing a deep blue. It’s shot again, this time in the chest. Growling, it leaps at the man who shot him, bites him in the neck and pulls him into the darkness of the hallway with him. 

“He’s getting away!” someone shouts. 

“Lord Commander wants him brought in alive! He’s the key! Don’t let him escape!” 

All of the remaining men in the black coats storm his mother’s bedroom. Jacaerys hears glass shattering again and assumes another monster has come. He covers his eyes with his hands, rocking back and forth on the floor. He doesn’t know how long he sits there like there, snot and tears running down his face, his pajamas soiled. 

“He got away,” someone is saying. "The fledgling we chased here was killed but the female was taken." 

Another man says, “Lord Commander won’t be happy that we let him escape again.” 

“What do we do about the kid?” 

“Hey, kid!” 

Jacaerys peeks through his eyes, his entire body shaking. 

A man with red hair and brown eyes squats down. “Hey, what’s your name?” 

“J...J…” Jacaerys's lips quivers and fat tears roll down his face. All he sees is his dead mother, the headless man, and blood, so much blood. “J...J…” 

“Jon,” one of the men who are standing says. “He can be Jon from now on. No use in his old name anymore. What’s this region again? The North right?” He looks down at Jon, his eyes empty and cold. “That makes him a Snow. He’ll join the others we’ve collected.” 

The redhead offers _Jon_ a kind smile. “Jon Snow, it is. You’re the Night’s Watch’s now.” He offers his hand. “And we take care of our own.” 

He doesn’t take the offered hand. But he allows the man to pick him up as he’s too in shock to fight him or anyone off. Over the man’s shoulder, he stares at the cottage, anger and hatred slowly taking over his mind and heart. When he’s old enough, he’s going to find that monster that killed his mother and kill it. 

* * *

_ **Dragonstone - 1914** _

“How long?” Arthur asks, keeping his eyes on the sleeping forms in the glass coffins. 

Viserys sighs deeply, the exhaustion from the past couple of weeks weighing down on him. “Rhaegar only needs a few years of rest to fully recover whereas Lyanna will need two decades at the very least. Her transition was disrupted.”

They both nearly died, truth be told. 

Had Rhaegar not made the tough decision to flee when he had, the hunters would’ve killed them. No. They would’ve killed Lyanna and captured Rhaegar. 

The pests have been trying to capture one of them for four years now. Thanks to Daenerys, they know now that the hunters are using magic to track vampires. Even if their sister hadn’t picked up on that in Meereen they would’ve found out either way that the hunters were using magic. 

After the attack on Lyanna’s cottage, Rhaegar used his remaining energy to track Jacaerys’s location. His brother knew the hunters would see him as a human child and get him to safety. What his brother didn’t know was that the hunters liked to add orphaned boys to their ranks. 

Castle Black, the hunter’s headquarters is located in the far north of Westeros on top of the highest mountain. The bloody place is also protected by powerful magic. Daenerys tried to storm the place and was severely burned. She had to drain two humans to recover. 

It took a lot of talking to convince their sister to be patient. Jacaerys wouldn’t stay inside Castle Black forever. 

For the time being, the family is staying at their ancestral estate in Westeros. It’s the safest place for them during this recovery period. 

“They will be fine,” Viserys assures Arthur. He’s been doing a lot of assuring lately and it sickens him. He misses being the reckless one. “You don’t have to guard them.” 

Arthur continues staring at them. “My place is by their side,” he says. 

By _their_ side, how interesting. 

Viserys thinks of teasing the man but even he isn’t in the mood for it. He leaves Arthur to his guard duty and goes to the upper level of the castle. It feels strange being here after centuries. 

Dragonstone was meant to be their family’s new seat of power once their father completed his conquest of the west but it never happened. The castle has been passed around like a collection plate from one lord to the other until the three of them got bored one day and decided they wanted to claim it as their own. 

Well, it does belong to them rightfully, after all. 

The turned vampires, Missandei and Grey Worm are leaving Daenerys’s chambers when Viserys is entering the corridor. 

Their unwavering loyalty to his sister, competence, and willingness to get their hands dirty allowed them to earn favor with him. Immortality suits them both, as well. He’s also amazed that Daenerys was able to successfully sire, not one, but two vampires. Their little sister is full of surprises. She told them how they did it, and he can’t wait to sire his own children. But he hasn’t seen any humans worthy of his gift just yet. 

Daenerys is in her bed, fresh out of a bath. She’s wearing a lilac mesh gown with two cuts in the stomach. At the sight of him, she sits up, the sheets pooling around her waist. 

Viserys leans on one of the bed’s wooden posts. “I’ve freshened up your coffin for you,” he says, half-joking. “It’ll be easier if you sleep for a time.” 

She stares at her lap. “Rhaegar and I swore we wouldn’t meet our soulmates until they were of age. We didn’t want to tamper with their lives or influence them in any way as children. I can’t see him until he’s 18 either way. I’ve always known that.” 

“For us, 18 years is gone in the blink of an eye.” 

“Not for something like this,” she says, her voice breaking. He can’t remember a time when she didn’t seem so devastated at every turn. “It feels...it feels like I’m dying, Viserys…” 

Viserys sits on the bed next to her, touching her thigh in a comforting gesture. “That is why you should sleep. You won’t feel any of this when you’re sleeping.” 

Daenerys sits up on her knees. In the candlelight, he can see through her gown, her pink nipples, and her smooth cunt; she picked up the custom when they spent some time in Lys. He’s seen her body countless times that he barely takes a moment to admire it. He doesn’t take the moment now, either. 

She says, her voice gentler now, “Rhaegar denied me. Will you?” 

This isn’t his sister, he tells himself. 

Daenerys is trapped inside of there, suffering. This person is her desire and loneliness incarnate. She doesn’t love him. She never has. Not the way that she loves Jacaerys, and she’s incapable of loving him that way. Viserys wants to help her, he wants her to feel better but this isn’t the way he imagined. 

She touches his shoulders, staring down at him, her eyes looking at another person entirely. “I just want the emptiness inside of me to go away. I just want...I want to feel whole again.” 

“I can’t make you feel that way.” 

“You can help.” 

Viserys grabs her by the wrists, painfully, reminding her that he’s not the kind of person anyone seeks out for comfort. “Dany, you don’t want me to fuck you. Stop forcing yourself to want this.” 

Daenerys takes his hand and tries to slip it under her dress so that he may feel her wetness. “See for yourself.” 

Yanking his hand away, he scoffs. “That’s not for me.” It’ll never be for him and he’s long accepted that. “Sleep or I’ll make you. That is all I’m offering you.” 

It shouldn’t bother him to see her cry as he’s seen her tears on numerous occasions, he has been the reason for her tears on numerous occasions. Nonetheless, the sight of her tears and the raw emotion on her face and in her voice shatters him. His sister has been in pain for centuries. She’s fought against two dark states and pulled herself out. She’s the strongest person he knows, and yet she seems weak and helpless now. 

She’s truly reached her limit. 

“Please,” she cries. No, begs. Dany never begs. “Please, make it stop…” She didn’t even beg Rhaegar like this. She was still prideful with him. “I can’t...I can’t do this anymore...I just…” She clutches the side of her head and sobs. 

Viserys pulls her hands away from her face, kissing them. “Dany, who am I?” he asks. 

Daenerys lifts his hand, pressing it to the side of her face. Leaning into it, she purrs softly. “Jacaerys,” she says. 

Smiling, Viserys blinks away a tear. 

He knew it wasn’t him she was begging. He kisses her anyway, tenderly at first then harder with more purpose. She touches him all over, hurriedly undressing him while he remains passive for the most part. This is for her, not him. 

She’s using him, he thinks to himself as she presses him down on the mattress and straddles him, sinking down on his cock and riding him in a blind daze. She’s simply using him for the pain, and that’s fine. This is his purpose; to be what his siblings need. 

This is the only worth he has. He isn’t admired and loved like Rhaegar. He isn’t charming and worthy of praise like Daenerys. He’s just here. 

Daenerys starts sobbing because somewhere in there she realizes what she’s doing to him. “I’m sorry,” she cries, still moving her hips, still taking her pleasure. “I’m so sorry…” 

Sitting up, Viserys dries her eyes. “It’s okay,” he whispers, resigned to his fate. “You can use me. Use me until you feel better. It’s okay, Dany.” She can use all of him until there’s nothing left. 

What else is there for him to do? 

She takes her fill of him, and once it's over she falls into his arms, apologizing yet no longer crying because, despite her remorse, her great need has been sated for now.

Viserys assures her that it's fine, that he doesn't mind doing this for her from time to time until the one she truly wants is available. While she sleeps peacefully and dreams of her precious Jacaerys, no doubt, Viserys wonders if he might've killed his own soulmate by mistake during his years of slaughtering humans like animals. 

Then he remembers that the gods would never bother setting aside someone special for the likes of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the end of the Overtures (Prologue)  
Jonerys's story begins the next chapter. There will be a 16-year time skip!  
Thanks for all of the support for this fic! I appreciate it so much!!


	6. Undulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moodboard by Igbtdany on Twitter!

_ _

_“What are you doing under there?” _

_Uncovering his damp eyes, Jon sees his mother’s face come into view, her long, dark hair pulled to one side. The suffocating fear that once clung to him disappears, a sense of comfort and safety filling him. His mother reaches for him. _

_Jon takes her hand, allowing her to pull him out. “I saw a monster,” he says to explain why he’d ran and hid under the bed, to begin with. “It had glowing eyes and fangs. It was hurting you!” _

_His mother picks him up, holding him against her chest as she pets his hair and kisses the top of his head. “There’s nothing to fear, my boy,” she says, her voice distorted now. “Your mother will protect you.” _

_Something’s wrong. _

_Aside from the change in her voice, her hands and kisses are ice cold, and her sleeping gown changes from white to black. The comfort he once felt leaves as soon as it came, dread filling him. _

_This is the part that Jon hates the most; the loss of her warmth. He knows what’s next. He always knows what’s next. Even still, he’s never prepared for it. _

_“If only you had been strong enough to protect me,” his mother says, her voice not her own. Her voice is cruel and hateful now. “Look at me, son. Look at what you let happen to me!" _

_Try as he might to do otherwise, Jon looks up at her. There’s blood pooling from a gash in her neck, her skin, that was once pale, is as grey as a corpse’s, and her eyes as are black as a bottomless pit. When she opens her mouth more blood oozes out. _

_Jon screams. _

* * *

** _Somewhere in Prague - 1930_ **

He wakes up drenched in a cold sweat, his hair and shirt uncomfortably damp. Sitting up in the stiff cot, he peels his shirt off and slings it on the floor. The only bright side is that he didn’t wake up screaming this time so he doesn’t have to endure his partner giving him odd looks during the remainder of their assignment. 

Pressing his back against the cool, stone wall, Jon stares at his trembling hands. He tells himself it’s just the cold. The temperature dropped with the setting of the sun as it often does this time of year and the Inn they’re staying in has one fireplace to keep the entire place warm. 

But the Innkeeper gave them extra furs and a flagon of course beer each to make up for that. It’s not the cold that has his hands trembling though he hates to admit what it truly is. 

Hearing heavy footsteps approaching, Jon sighs and closes his eyes. He snaps his eyes open immediately. The image of his mother has yet to leave him, and it won’t for a time. 

The door to his room opens with a loud squeak, the wood scraping across the floor. His partner of two years, Daemon Sand, enters, fully dressed and ready to start the hunt. 

When they were first partnered up together after the death of Jon’s previous partner, they bumped heads at every turn. They’re two of the best hunters with their own ways of going about hunts. It took a while for them to get used to the other, but now they get along fine for the most part. Daemon was found in Dorne, hence the surname. His family was slaughtered by a pack of rabid wights, and he would’ve been slaughtered as well if the hunters hadn’t shown up when they had. 

Wordlessly, Jon gets out of bed and dresses quickly. They have at least another hour before sunrise. Jon isn’t sure how he knows that. It’s just one of his many knacks. 

“You had that nightmare again,” Daemon says. His Dornish accent is watered down now but someone with keen ears like Jon’s can pick up on it. “How long has it been since you had it last?” 

It’s been months. He doesn’t tell Daemon that, though. There’s no need to speculate why the nightmares decided to come back now of all times. Jon pulls on his black, fur-trimmed cloak, concealing the knives and guns secured on his belt. 

“Let’s get this over with,” he says, walking past Daemon out of the room. 

Downstairs in the pub, the barmaid is pouring ale for the same two locals she was serving when they retired for the night. At the sight of Jon and Daemon, she smiles. She flirted with the both of them last night, mainly Daemon; women always fall for the blue-eyed, dimpled-cheeked fucker. She blows a kiss at the man and Daemon smiles charmingly. 

Daemon’s smile falls immediately after his head turns. Jon holds in a laugh. All the women they meet in their travels throw themselves at Daemon and the man hates the attention. But he’s never rude. Jon, who has a habit of being unintentional in his cruelty, envies the man’s ability to put on a façade. Women throw themselves at Jon too but his sullenness and overall standoffish disposition send them running for the hills. 

There’s only been one woman brave enough to stick around, but that’s a situation he’d rather not think about right now. Or ever if he could help it. 

Earlier this week, a horde of wights ravished a village ten miles from here. Other hunters were sent to eradicate them and stabilize the area, but a large number of wights escaped and many fellow hunters were lost. Which is why newbies shouldn’t be sent to kill wights, in Jon’s opinion. 

After a large feeding, wights are known to find shelter to rest up before they move again. This village is next on their list. Yesterday, during recon work, they found signs that suggest the pack is holed up in an abandoned mill on the outskirts of the village. They’re heading there now on horseback. 

It’s an easy job for seasoned hunters like them. 

The best time to hunt wights is during their hibernation periods, preferably during the day as wights are weak to sunlight. Weak is putting it lightly. The sun is the surest way to kill their kind. Second to that is fire. Fledglings are tougher to kill. It takes silver bullets to end them and in some cases, it’s best to decapitate them and set their bodies aflame to ensure the job is done. 

As for the top of the vampiric food chain, the hunters keep special bullets for those kinds. Purebloods are what Lord Commander refers to them as. They’re the first of their kind, hard to kill, and rare to find. Jon has never faced a pureblood in the field, has never even seen one aside from the one that killed his mother. And his memory of that night isn’t the most reliable. 

All he remembers are the monster’s glowing eyes. He only knows the vampire was a pureblood because his former advisor told him as much. 

“Remember when the hunt used to be exciting?” Daemon asks, squinting his eyes against the first rays of sunlight. 

They can see the mill in the distance. By now all the wights are surely inside. 

Jon glances over at Daemon, frowning. “You find excitement in being nearly killed?” Admittedly, there is some excitement to a good hunt where the opponent is worthy of them utilizing all of their resources. 

“What I mean to say is that I miss the challenge. Things have been slow ever since that big hunt in Asshai.” 

There was a female fledgling there calling herself Queen of the Shadow. She’d ruled the city for a year undetected before they arrived. Asshai is said to be the Land without a Sun, making it the perfect place for vampires to live. 

The queen might’ve had a longer reign had it not been for ambition. One of her underlings was creating wights in order to overthrow the queen so that they may rule in her stead. Before an all-out civil war broke out, the bulk of the Night’s Watch descended on the Shadow City and put an end to them all, wights and fledglings alike. 

It was during that long night that Jon and Daemon earned their titles as top hunters. All of their magic was exhausted, all of their energy, yet they fought until there wasn’t an enemy left in sight. They lost a lot of brothers that night but it was worth it in the end. The queen was killed by the current Lord Commander's favorite lapdog, Ramsay Snow. That earned the man his current seat at the high table; a seat he didn’t deserve otherwise. 

“Is it a challenge you want or are you eager to die?” Jon asks as they tie their horses to the tree that’s several meters away from the mill. 

Daemon shrugs. “We’re all eager to die,” he says. He sits his black case on the grass, opening it. He takes out a flask of liquid fire. “Shall we bake them or see if we can lure them out?” 

“They’d have to be stupid to come outside now.” 

The sun was steadily rising, casting the pastures in warm, yellow light. If the wights came out now they'd fry. 

“They’re wights.” 

Daemon has a point. Wights are dumber than a bag of nails. Perhaps that’s wrong to say. They have some level of intelligence to know that the sun isn’t their friend, that they’re stronger in numbers, and that if they see men dressed in all black carrying totes that they should haul ass. 

Still, they’re not the brightest creatures. They're ruled by hunger rather than logic. 

“We’ll bake them,” Jon says. “The sooner we get back, the sooner we can get a chance at a better assignment.” It’s first-come, first-serve, these days.

That’s all the convincing Daemon needs. After Jon grabs his own flask of liquid death, they approach the windmill. 

A skin-tingling sensation washes over Jon once they’re close to the wooden door. It’s as if he can hear the wights, their heartbeats thudding. There’s a dozen of them at least and they’re sleeping. 

When he tells Daemon, the man doesn’t question how he knows this. By now, he’s grown accustomed to Jon’s oddities. Daemon is the only person living who knows of Jon’s heightened senses. Early on, he learned it was best not to share certain things with the hunters. His former advisor, Jeor Mormont, knew, and he told Jon not to let anyone else know. 

Daemon figured it out from his own observations over the years. The man is trustworthy enough. 

Jon kicks the door of the windmill open, and they throw the flasks in. Hurried movement and low hissing can be heard. The hunters recite the spell to ignite the fire and seconds later, every wight inside is set aflame. They call it “baking” because of how the magical flames cook the wights on the outside before slowly spreading to their insides. Jon and Daemon listen to the creatures’ agonizing screeches, feeling nothing aside from impatience. 

They can’t leave until it’s over. 

Once it is over, they enter the windmill, guns drawn to make sure there aren’t any stragglers. There are none. Only piles of ash are left behind. Daemon takes out a small vial and collects some of the ash to take in. As of late, they’ve been ordered to do this at the end of every job. 

“Well, that was fun.” Daemon pockets the vial, his boredom palpable. “Let’s hope they have something worth our while next time.” 

Jon can only hope.

* * *

_ **Castle Black - 1930 ** _

The hunter’s lair resides in the far north in an area untouched by time. No one has ever successfully traveled this far and left alive aside from the brothers before them who fortified the castle and its walls with stone, ice, and magic. 

Remnants from failed attempts at exploring the area lie buried beneath inches of snow, lost forever along with the frozen animal and human carcasses. Atop the highest peak sits the old castle, black and daunting, the very sight of it offers no comfort for anyone that may manage to make it this far. 

If the cold doesn’t kill them, trying to entire the castle will. 

Truth be told, Castle Black is more than just the high walls, arched doors, and towers. The entire mountain houses the Night’s Watch though the lower levels are restricted. It’s where the Lord Commander’s living quarters are. 

In the upper level, the apprentices, that are mostly orphaned children who’ve lost their families to vampires, are trained in the arts of the hunt and taught the basics like mathematics, geography, and world history; enough for them to use their wits whenever they’re in a tough spot. In the level below that is where Jon, Daemon, and the other seasoned hunters live, train, and commune. 

There are hunters who are allowed to live outside of the castle as they’re responsible for monitoring high-risk areas to warn of a potential threat. Jon hoped he and Daemon would be assigned to that task because he wants the chance to do some hunting of his own, but the Lord Commander likes to keep Daemon close. 

“You two are right on time,” Victarion Greyjoy, the second in command, says as they enter the common area. He’s as broad as a bull in the chest and shoulders, his hair’s flecked with grey, and his dark, brown eyes are always serious. “Euron wants a word with you both.” 

Out of his peripheral, Jon notices how Daemon’s jaw clenches at the mention of the Lord Commander. 

“He has a job for us?” Jon asks. 

“Suppose you’ll find out soon enough,” Vicatarion says, heading out. He’s dressed for a hunt. “As if my brother ever tells me a damn thing,” he mutters under his breath. 

If Victarion is heading out, that means there’s something serious afoot. 

Jon and Daemon share a look then they make their way to the Lord Commander’s office. Parts of the lower level are sealed off with magic aside from the man’s office. He’s the secretive sort unlike the former Lord Commander, Jeor Mormont. The Old Bear died during the hunt in Asshai along with his second in command and Euron was voted into power. 

To be frank, Jon doesn’t trust Euron nor does he particularly like the man. He never has. For all of the man’s smiles and friendlessness, there’s something about him that makes Jon’s stomach sour. 

“How was Prague?” Euron asks when they enter his office, his back turned to them as he stares at the world map hanging on the wall behind his desk. 

For a man with a love for collecting trinkets, his office is bare aside from the world map, a desk, a few scattered books in the corner of the room, and a black skull on his desk. That’s how Jon knows the man is hardly in here. He wonders what his hidden chambers look like. 

“Easy,” Jon says. He glances at Daemon who has his eyes to the floor. The way the man asks craven around Euron seriously irks him. “Do you have a job for us, Lord Commander?” 

Euron faces them grinning, his one visible eye as blue as a clear sky. He’s pale with black hair and a dark beard. His lips aren’t blue today as they often are. It would appear he hasn’t been drinking his favorite beverage as of late. Objectively, he’s handsome and Jon supposes there are people who fancy him for that reason alone but the man’s looks do nothing to overshadow his overall character. 

The man steps around his desk, his black boots soundless on the thick, bear rug. He speaks to Jon but his eye stays on Daemon. “Bodies are piling up in King’s Landing. Local authorities believe Old Jack has been reborn…” 

Jack the Ripper is lightwork compared to what’s really probably plaguing the city, Jon thinks. 

“I want you and Daemon to go there and find out if the threat is human or Other.” Euron leans against his desk, crossing his arms. “If it’s the latter, you know what to do.” 

“Victarion’s on a job?” Jon asks despite knowing he has no business prying. “He hasn’t left the castle since Asshai...” 

Euron’s grin widens. “Is there a reason why a foot soldier is concerned with the business of his superior, Snow?” 

He might as well spit on Jon with the condescending tone he’s using. But Jon’s used to the man being an all-around asshole. But the thing is, Jon isn’t afraid of the man like Daemon and the others seem to be. He also has trouble controlling his temper sometimes. 

Jon takes a step forward. Daemon grabs him by the arm, keeping him in place. He lifts his head, staring at a spot behind Euron. 

“Thank you for the assignment, Lord Commander. We are most grateful for the opportunity to serve,” he says like the trained soldier he is. “May we leave to begin our preparations?” 

Euron seems quite pleased with the subservience. Actually he seems more than pleased, his blue eye sparkling with delight as he eyes Daemon. Without fail, the man manages to get under Jon’s skin with the way he talks to Daemon and looks at him. And it’s not just Daemon Jon has seen the man act this way toward either. There’s a new boy they brought in from Oldtown, Satin, that Euron has taken a liking to. Jon worries the boy will turn out to be another Ramsay; a bloodthirsty dog. He's glad Daemon didn't turn out that way. 

“Of course,” Euron says, looking away from Daemon to stare at Jon. No longer does his eye hold interest or delight. “Innocent lives are at stake. The sooner you two put an end to this threat, the better for all.” 

Daemon doesn’t let go of Jon’s arm until they’re on the lift riding back up to their level. 

“What was that about?” Jon asks hotly. 

“You were challenging his authority. Are you bloody mad?” Daemon shouts back. “Euron is not the kind of man you want to cross and need I remind you, he’s our superior!” 

“He’s a cunt, that’s what he is.” 

“If he ever hears you say that you will regret it. I assure you.” 

Jon looks at Daemon sharply. It’s rare that he wants to ring the man’s head like a bell these days but he wants to now. “Are you afraid of him? You?” Daemon has stared down a fledgling who’d just ripped off the head of one of their brothers without flinching but he’s afraid of this human who wears a fucking eye patch. “What is it between you two?” 

The lift creaks to a stop. Daemon opens the door and as soon as he does, they see Ygritte, a fellow hunter, walking in their direction. Looking over his shoulder, Daemon cracks a smug smile. 

“Shall I ask what it is between the two of you?” Daemon says. 

Jon curses. He isn’t in the mood for this shit. 

Ygritte was brought in the same year as Jon. He’s known her just as long as he’s known Daemon. There was a time when he considered her a close friend but when he was fifteen he made the mistake of getting too curious for his own good. Now Jon couldn’t shake her no matter how badly he wanted to. He likes Ygritte well enough. She’s funny and good at the hunt. Her hair's bright red, kissed by fire as some would say, and when the night’s cold and he’s lonely she makes him feel less alone. 

Does Jon love Ygritte? Jon doesn’t think he’s capable of loving anyone. 

Daemon, the bastard, leaves him to the woman and Jon swears to make the man pay for it. Ygritte stops in front of him, arms crossed, thin lips pressed in a tight line. 

“You told me you’d let me know when you got back,” she says in that husky voice of hers. 

“I just got back,” Jon says walking past her because he knows she’ll follow him. “Now we’re leaving again. There’s work in King’s Landing.” 

Ygritte walks beside him, frowning. “I want an answer. I’ve been waiting for weeks for you to give me one.” She blocks his path to the corridor that leads to the room he shares with Daemon. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life here or do you want to live your life your own way...with me?” 

“My life stopped being my own the night my mother was killed. You know that.” He walks around her and heads down the corridor. “Besides, they’re not going to let any of us just walk away.” 

“They can’t stop us,” she says, keeping her voice low. “We’re the top hunters. We know the spells, how to hide, and how to survive. We could go on an assignment and never come back.” 

“Let me think about it.” 

Ygritte stomps her foot and curses. “I’m not falling for that again, damn you.” 

Jon turns to her, taking her by the shoulders. In the dim hallway, she almost looks pretty. “I’m serious,” he says. And part of him is serious. “Give me time to think about it and I’ll give you an answer. I swear it.” 

After his constant empty swearing, this time around Ygritte makes him swear in blood. He pricks his thumb and rubs it on her palm. The gesture means nothing essentially as no spell is uttered to seal the promise but in Ygritte’s culture, it means a great deal. 

She kisses him before she runs off to her own assignment, and Jon thinks about their assignment in King’s Landing, and if the weather will be fair throughout the kiss. He feels nothing.

* * *

_ **King’s Landing - 1930 ** _

They travel by orb to the capital city. 

For every assignment, each hunter is given two transportation orbs to journey to and from their destinations; it’s why they seem to always appear out of thin air. 

Depending on the location of the assignment, they’ll travel without magic to save their orbs for an emergency but King’s Landing is far south and is a two-week journey depending on the northern weather. They’re not pressed for time, but they don’t want to risk the threat level rising. 

Out of all of the cities they’ve been to, this one is the noisiest and dirtiest. But from a distance, King’s Landing is beautiful with its glittering high rises and modern architecture. The oldest building in the city is the Red Keep, a castle as ancient as Castle Black. During the time when Westeros was a united kingdom, the governing monarchs resided in the Red Keep. Now the castle belongs to the city and is open during the day for tours and the occasional wedding. 

In the hills surrounding the city, there are mansions where film starlets, politicians, and old money residents live far from the riff-raff in Flea Bottom, the working girls and boys in the Street of Silk, and the zealots at the Great Sept. King’s Landing is the sort of city people come to for a chance at a fresh start. 

If a person was a dirt poor nobody from a horse and carriage village they could come to this city and become well-known and wealthy. There are people who actually dream of living here someday. 

Looking around the small room they booked for the week, Jon crinkles his nose. Who would want to live here? 

The stench from the city can be smelled through the walls. Or perhaps it’s the scent of the sweaty man the poor working girl fucked just before the room was given to them. 

There’s a big match taking place this weekend so the good hotels are booked and the decent hotels are taken as well, leaving them with a shoebox upstairs of a pub. They’re in the Street of Silk so it’s safe to assume that tonight wasn’t the only time this room was used for that sort of transaction. 

“The last murder was near a popular lounge,” Daemon is saying, always eager to get right to it. “The local authorities don’t think the lounge is a place of interest, however.” 

“So we’re definitely going to check this lounge out?" 

“Exactly. As we know the local authorities are…limited in their resources.” 

That’s his partner’s nice way of saying the local authorities are always in the dark about the most obvious things. He supposes the same can be said for the hunters who came before them. For a time, they believed fledglings were easily identified by their physical appearances. But as it turns out, some fledglings are capable of blending in with humans if they try hard enough. 

Their weakness for blood and sunlight is the only reason why they’re incapable of going undetected for long. If a fledgling is responsible for these deaths, they’ll find it and kill it. 

“Well, let’s head over to the lounge and see if anyone saw anything.” 

Daemon looks at Jon from head to toe. “This lounge is said to be the hottest joint in town.” 

Jon blinks. “And?” 

“You can’t wear that. You look like a hunter.” 

“...I am a hunter.” 

“Yes, but tonight you need to be a young man looking for a good time. We want people to think we’re approachable. You look like you want to kill something.” 

That’s because Jon does want to kill something. He always wants to kill something. Hunting isn’t just about protecting civilians for him; it’s never really been about that honestly. The more he kills, the stronger he becomes, and the stronger he becomes the more prepared he’ll be to hunt down that monster that killed his mother and ruined his entire life. 

Daemon takes out a sack of coins from his pocket. “We passed a couple of shops on our way here-” 

“No,” Jon says, snorting. “We’re not going...shopping. We’re not here for that. We have a job to do.” 

“A job we can’t do successfully unless we look the part. If we go into that lounge looking like this, we’ll draw too much attention to ourselves for starters. And if the fledgling is around it may skip town if it knows we’re here.” 

Jon really hates it when Daemon makes sense. It’s harder to deny him when he does. Instead, he tries to deflect. 

“You’re in a good mood tonight. Did one of the workers catch your eye?” 

Daemon, however, is used to Jon’s tactics. “Let’s walk and talk,” he says. “The shops will be closing soon.” 

Unfortunately, they make it to one of the shops just before closing and the shopkeeper is more than happy to fit them into suits; deep chocolate for Jon with brown tweed trousers and a powder blue one for Daemon that brings out his eyes. Their shoes are shinier than any shoes they've ever owned, and he has to admit they look dashing. They look the part of two, young men looking for a good time. 

On the sidewalk, heads turn as they pass, and for all of his enthusiasm about dressing up, Daemon loathes the attention. One would think that someone who looks like Daemon would thrive under multiple gazes but the man seems to shrink whenever someone stares at him for too long. Jon bets Euron has something to do with that. 

He wants to ask Daemon about Euron, he wants to know if his assumptions are wrong—gods, he hopes they’re wrong—but if he starts digging that’ll give Daemon the right to start digging into his business and Jon doesn’t want that. 

They work well together because they respect each other’s boundaries, and it’s the only stable relationship he has in his life. He’d rather not lose it. 

_Rhaella’s_ is in the ritzier part of town and is said to be frequented by socialites and low lives alike. That’s part of its charm. 

The city’s royalty can have a daring night on the town and mingle with people they wouldn’t be caught dead with anywhere else, and the peasants can see the elites up close and personal. Jon also hears the place sells booze under the counter like most joints but unlike most joints, the police never bother this place. 

King’s Landing is such a chaotic hotbed that he doubts the coppers care enough to maintain the liquor laws when dead bodies are washing up from the bay once a week from mob hits and people are being ripped apart in the streets by some unknown killer. 

They can see the neon, red sign for the lounge several blocks away. Jon’s palms begin to sweat, his heart racing. He perks his ears to check if anything is nearby but hears nothing. The sensation passes fairly quickly, so quickly that he wonders if he imagined it. 

At the door, there is one thick-necked bounced guarding a velvet rope. At the sight of them, he lifts the rope and lets them through without a word. 

Admittedly, Jon was expecting more of a hassle. 

“I told you,” Daemon says as they’re walking into the foyer. “You have to look the part.” 

Jon’s snarky retort dies on his tongue at the sight of the lounge’s interior. 

The walls are stark white and pristine without a panel out of place. A crystal chandelier dangles from the center of the room, the floors, and columns lining the short staircase to the lower level are marble, and the circular tables are covered in black and red tablecloths. There are two bars, each one has black sculptures of nude women at their backs. 

On the stage, a dusky-skinned woman is singing an upbeat tune, her sleeveless pink gown hugging her buxom frame. There's also a band playing for her. People are dancing, some are seated at the tables drinking and smoking, and others are huddled off in the corner around a game of craps, shouting and laughing. 

A redheaded woman in a short sequinned dress comes up to greet them. She lets them know when the next game at the table is open, where they can go for a smoke, and that the lounge has two levels. 

“If you’re interested in entry to our upper level sometime this evening please find me!” she says, winking. “Just ask for Ros!” She gives them a smile before she heads off to greet other patrons. 

“Where to first?” Jon asks, eager to get this over with. The place gives him a bad vibe. 

Daemon appears to be uncomfortable as well. They’re not used to being in settings like these. “The bar,” he says. “Drunk people talk a lot.” 

At the larger bar, there’s a man and woman working both ends with efficiency and expertise. They whip up drinks back to back in a showy way that Jon actually finds impressive. Not knowing anything other than whiskey and beer, he orders the former and Daemon orders the same. Neither of them drinks just yet. 

A good deal of their time at the bar is spent eavesdropping. Everyone’s excited about the upcoming boxing match and have placed bets on the reigning heavyweight champion, and there’s a lot of talk about the siblings who own the lounge. 

“Do you think they’ll make an appearance tonight?” one woman whispers to her friend beside her. “I hear the brother is the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.” She pats her updo and smiles. “I also hear they’re old money.” 

“Who knows. They’re a queer lot,” her friend says in between puffs of smoke. “They have those foreigners living with them, too. I hear they’re bed slaves from the east.” 

“The sister sure seems like the type to keep a man in her bed. I saw her in town once. Dresses like a harlot if you ask me. A lady should dress a certain way when at the general store-” 

Jon tunes the women out. He doesn’t care about any of that. He wants to know about the body the authorities found in the nearby alley the other night. At this rate, they’re better off getting in good with a detective and asking him. Or they could try a special way of getting information from him. 

The music changes to a soulful tune. Jon glances down at his untouched whiskey and decides a taste wouldn’t hurt. Daemon sees him drink, and he laughs. 

“Finally,” he says. “I was waiting for you to drink first.” He takes a sip from his own glass. When he lowers it, he smiles. Then his smile drops. “Gods…” 

Jon turns around to see what made Daemon, of all people, go slack-jawed like that. 

On the dance floor, people part down the middle to make room for a man and a woman who could be twins from this far away. 

Both have heads of silver-blonde hair, smooth, pale skin, and attire that reeks of wealth and prestige. The woman is wearing a backless, form-fitting gown made of silver crystals, and a pair of dangling diamond earrings. She looks like one of the girls in the pictures like she's fresh in from Hollywood. As if sensing the many eyes on her, she looks up, her thick lashes fluttering, and she stares directly at Jon. Her eyes are a beautiful lilac. 

His palms begin to sweat again, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. Breaking away from the eye contact, he swivels in his chair and downs the rest of his drink. Then he orders another one.

Daemon is still staring at who Jon believes to be the owners of the lounge if the hushed whispers are anything to go from. 

“They’re like movie stars,” Daemon breathes. “Especially the man...he’s quite exquisite.” As an afterthought, he adds, “The woman too.” 

She’s more than exquisite, Jon thinks as he waits for his drink to come. She’s fucking breathtaking. His hands are still trembling and he has the intense urge to either run away from her or run right to her and do something stupid. 

“That’s the Targaryen siblings,” a man closest to Daemon says in a strong Flea Bottom accent. “They’re from the east, I hear. They moved here three years ago and purchased half the damn town…” 

Jon accepts his second drink with a grateful smile. He turns around in his chair again, trying and failing not to search the crowd for the woman. The music and dancing have already picked back up and people are no longer openly staring at the siblings, and yet Jon finds them easily. They’re now seated in a velvet booth near the stage. 

The man is smoking a black cigar that releases a strange, blue smoke, and the woman is staring at the singer on the stage, a longing expression on her lovely face. 

She seems so sad. 

A man approaches the booth, clasping his hands nervously as he speaks to the woman. Jon is happy when the woman’s brother gives the man a sharp look that sends him scurrying off. Then he frowns to himself. 

Why would that make him happy? He doesn’t actually care if anyone talks to this woman he doesn’t even know. Besides, maybe she wants someone to talk to her considering how sad she looks. 

“We need to leave,” Jon says, startled by the thickness of his own voice. He tears his eyes away from the woman and looks at Daemon who is still staring at her brother, no doubt. “We won’t learn anything here. We need to stake the place out and keep an eye on the perimeter instead.” 

Daemon blinks hard as if snapping himself out of some spell. “Yes, we should leave,” he says, a hint of sadness in his voice. “There’s nothing for us here.” 

They get up to leave. 

“Excuse me, sirs,” an elegant speaking brown-skinned woman says. She’s pretty and slender, her long, brown hair styled into tight curls that frame her face. “My mistress would like a word.” 

Jon asks, “Your mistress?” 

“Ms. Targaryen. She is one of the owners of this establishment.” The woman steps to the side and gestures with her hand. “Please follow me.” 

Daemon and Jon look at each other then they look back at the woman. If she were a fledgling, they could take her on no problem, a small thing like her. But she doesn’t give off the scent of a fledgling. 

They follow her. 

“May we know the reason for the summon?” Daemon asks. 

“I am not allowed to say,” the woman replies. 

“Can we have your name at least?” 

The woman glances at Daemon as though she were surprised he cared to ask. “Missandei,” she says. 

When she leads them to the spiral staircase, Jon looks to where he saw Ms. Targaryen last, finding the booth only occupied by her brother now. The man looks up at him, his eyes the same color as his sisters, and he smirks before looking away. Jon doesn’t know why but he wants to punch the man. He has the kind of face that’s good for punching, he thinks. 

Upstairs, the carpet is red and the walls are a brown so deep and rich that they look black. There are doors lining the walls with gold-plated numbers. The upper-level is full of pleasure rooms, it would seem. A lounge that doubles as a brothel. Of course, this is the most popular joint in town. It’s a wonder the police haven’t shut this place down yet. 

Missandei leads them down the hall and around a corner to where a single door is. Opening it, she lets them step inside first. 

Ms. Targaryen is standing in front of a window that overlooks the lounge. Jon stares at the visible strip of her back, how the cut of her dress almost dips too low. When he glances up, she’s staring right at him. 

“Thank you for coming, officers,” she says, turning around to face them. She crosses the room to greet them, smiling nervously. “I was worried no one would come.” 

Typical damsel, Jon thinks, a little disappointed. Earlier, he’d thought he’d seen something in her that suggested she was far from that type but he supposes he was wrong. Then again, it’s unfair to judge a woman he hardly knows. 

She thinks he and Daemon are with the authorities. Neither of them intends to tell her otherwise. Jon loves how he doesn’t have to give his partner a signal or worry about the man ruining this opportune moment. They fall into their roles with ease. 

“Of course, miss,” Daemon says, feigning sincerity. “We had to keep a low profile as not to draw too many eyes. You do understand?” 

“Oh, yes,” she says. “And please, call me Daenerys.” 

What a name. It’s different, but not in a bad way. Jon wants to repeat it to see how it rolls off his tongue but he stops himself from doing so. 

“Care to give us more details on the matter?” Jon asks. “Our superior didn’t give us much.” 

Daenerys hugs herself, looking shaken up. “I...I know this will sound mad…” 

Jon usually hates dealing with frazzled people; mainly because he always feels awkward when he tries to comfort anyone, but he wants to comfort her for some strange reason. He steps forward. 

“It’s fine, Daenerys,” he says, glad that he has a reason to say her name. It rolls off his tongue perfectly. “Tell us everything and we’ll do our best to help.” 

Daenerys smiles at him and nods. “The other night...it was a Tuesday...I saw something kill that man.” She stares at Jon, her eyes serious. “It...wasn’t human. Before you tell me that the mountain lions would never stray this far and that it couldn’t have been a wolf-” 

“What did it look like?” Jon asks. He doesn’t need any more convincing. “Did you see its face?” 

“Yes, I did. Its eyes were...they were red. It looked like a person but it wasn’t one.” She shakes her head and closes her eyes. “I must have been hallucinating. It was late and I’d had my fair share of gin and tonics. I’m sorry if this is a waste of time.” 

Without thinking, Jon steps closers to her, and he regrets it. She smells sweet like some sort of flower but not too sweet that it irritates him. The air between them is smoldering, hot enough to start a fire. She blinks up at him, her pupils dilating, and he glances at her mouth. She has such a pretty mouth. 

Daemon clears his throat. “Do you know what happened to this...thing afterward? Did it try to attack you?” 

Stepping away from Jon, Daenerys shakes her head at Daemon. “No, it didn’t see me. It ran off into the night.” She looks back at Jon, her eyes watering. “Do you think it’ll come back?” 

“Tough to say.” 

The fledgling will go wherever food is so there’s a strong chance that it will come back. If only they arrived here the morning after the kill and had a chance to examine the body they could’ve picked up a hair or something from the victim and used magic to track the fledgling. Now all they have is dust. 

But they at least know that their presence here is necessary. The local authorities will be useless against this sort of monster. 

“Were you the only one who saw it?” Daemon asks. “A second pair of eyes could be helpful.” 

“Yes, I was the only one. I’m sorry that I can’t be of more help to you.” 

“It’s no worry, miss,” Daemon says, and this time he sounds genuine. “You’ve been a great help. My partner and I would like to come back tomorrow morning to see where you saw this thing. Would that be too much trouble?” 

“No, not at all.” Daenerys turns to Missandei who has been silently standing off to the side this entire time. Jon nearly forgot the woman because she’s so quiet and still. “Please give them my personal number. I would prefer to stay in contact with you both instead of the officer who came the other day he wasn’t as professional.” 

Jon wonders what she means by that. Did the cop make a pass at her? He bets he did. He bets a lot of men make passes at her. He’s even sure she has a man of her own. Of course, she does. A woman like her is definitely taken. An uneasiness settles in his stomach at the thought of her being taken. He needs to get out of here, away from her, away from these troubling thoughts. 

Missandei gives Jon the card with Daenerys’s number scribbled down in fine handwriting. Daenerys thanks them for their time and tells them that she looks forward to seeing them in the morning. She’s speaking to them both but it’s Jon whose gaze she holds. 

Afterward, Missandei walks them out. As they’re walking down the stairs, Daenerys’s brother is walking up. There’s something downright intimidating about the man. Not that Jon is afraid of him or would back down in a fight if it came to that. He just gets the feeling that it wouldn’t be an easy fight. But it’d sure as hell be a good one. 

The man glances at them, his eyes touching both of their faces. When his eyes touch Daemon's face, his eyes widen a fraction for the briefest of moments. It happens so fast that Jon is surprised he caught it at all. He can tell Daemon didn’t catch it because the man looks positively put out as they’re walking on the sidewalk heading to their room. 

“Do you fancy him?” Jon asks Daemon, chuckling.

Daemon’s reply is quick, “Do you fancy his sister?” 

Jon puts an end to his teasing. Clearing his throat, he says, “Sounds like she saw the real deal. You think we’ll pick up on something the authorities missed tomorrow?” 

“Don't we always?" 

Much later, when they’re back in their room, long after Daemon has finished his nightly push-ups, and Jon is lying in bed listening to his partner’s light snores, he thinks about Daenerys’s eyes. And when he finally falls asleep, he sees her eyes even in his dreams. 

None of the usual nightmares haunt him all night. 

* * *

“How was my acting, Missandei?” Daenerys asks. 

Missandei laughs. “You’re well on your way to becoming a movie star.” 

“I worried it was a bit over the top but I need him to see me as nothing more than an innocent civilian until everything is in place.” Daenerys lays down on the chaise lounge, smiling wide. “I wonder if this is how Rhaegar felt when he met Lyanna again. I feel like I’m floating on a cloud.” 

When Viserys entered the office, his sister jumped into his arms, chattering excitedly about how Jacaerys looked exactly the same and how she couldn’t wait for him to remember her. He's pleased to see her so animated as it’d been years without her even cracking a smile. 

Per their agreement, Viserys helped her from time to time, only when the pain became unbearable for her. It was always the most detached coupling he'd ever had with anyone. She only moaned one name, and it wasn't his. Whenever she did open her eyes to look at him, which was rare, she never saw him. And Viserys didn't want her to. He didn't want her to see how much she was hurting him because that would've made Daenerys feel terrible and he's tired of his sister feeling that way over things out of her control. 

They stopped altogether when they moved here to King’s Landing. Daenerys, in so many kind words, told him she had no more use for him in that regard. She thanked him, of course. 

Viserys never expected it to hurt him as much as it did because he always knew she would discard him when she had her fill of him. In fact, he used to wish for Jacaerys to magically appear and take the burden from him. 

What neither of them knew before their relationship started was that he would have to take on the bulk of her sorrow as well. Every time she used him, her sadness and loneliness were transferred to him, and he bore her grief for her. He isn’t sure if it was a literal or metaphorical transference, but he knows it was never intentional. 

Sometimes he wished Daenerys had been intentionally cruel to him so that he could have a justifiable reason for the bitter resentment that manifested inside of him. He thought he would walk away from the situation unscathed. He was wrong. He isn't as immune to human emotions as he thought he was. 

Make no mistake, Viserys has no ill will toward his sister or his nephew. All of his malice and bitterness is reserved for whoever decided that he should be unworthy of a soulmate. It's the gods he curses with everything he has. 

"Am I wrong for saying Jacaerys resembles Rhaegar?" Missandei asks. 

"Not at all," says Daenerys, her face full of life. She's most beautiful when she's happy. "He may have Lyanna's hair and eyes but everything else is Rhaegar." 

“Speaking of Rhaegar, he and Lyanna will be awake soon," Viserys says. "I hope Jacaerys’s memories return before then.” Or it will be a shitshow. 

“It may take some time for him to remember,” Daenerys admits, her smile faltering. Her eyes begin to water. “He isn’t quite the same. He’s lived a tragic life this lifetime. There’s so much darkness in him.” 

There’s darkness in you both, Viserys thinks. 

“Either way,” his sister continues, “he is mine, I am his. Nothing will keep us from reuniting.” She looks at Viserys, her eyes taking on a colder edge. “The man with him. Make sure he doesn’t become a problem, please.” 

Viserys thinks back to the man’s sky blue eyes and he smiles wickedly. True love may be out of his reach but he can still have his fun, and he's in need of a new plaything. “Leave him to me.” 

“Don’t kill him,” she says. “Yet. We still need to gather information on those wretched hunters." Standing, she smoothes down her dress and pats her hair down. "Missandei and I are going to see Arianne. I refuse to be blind-sided the way Rhaegar was. If more hunters are coming, we'll know." 

They haven't been laying around scratching their asses for the past sixteen years. They've made new, powerful friends to help them in the brewing war against the hunters. There was an incident in Asshai that served as a warning for all of their kind that if they didn't put an end to the hunters soon they would all be wiped out. Along with the fledglings he and Daenerys have sired, they're allies with a small coven from Dorne.

The Martells draw their power from the Goddess Nymeria who is as old as their mother's Valyrian deities. The coven's High Priestess, Arianne, has a personal vendetta against the hunters the same as they do. 

"I'm coming too," Viserys says, following them out of the room. "Ari, that bitch, swindled me in a game of cards last week. I plan to win back what she stole from me." 

"Is it stealing if she won?" Missandei asks, grinning at him. 

"You are a Targaryen by association, Missandei. Never side with a Martell!" 

Daenerys laughs; it's a good sound to hear after all this time. Viserys is happy knowing that his sister is happy, that soon she'll be reunited with her true love. It's almost worth the all-consuming darkness that's slowly eating away at his heart, his mind. He can only hope that if he does succumb, his siblings will be there for him as he's always been there for them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like every chapter there's some kind of issue or complaint about the story I'm writing. I just want to say that this story is mapped out, I know what I want to happen, and I feel confident in how I'll tie everything together. I also want to remind everyone this is an alternate universe that has nothing to do with canon. Characters who have never met or will ever meet in asoiaf are going to interact in this story because that's the fun of these kinds of universes, imo. 
> 
> So I just ask for patience and for anyone interested in continuing this story to just strap in for the ride. Thanks for all the comments, kudos, and any other support shown for this fic!


	7. Cadenza

_ **King’s Landing - 1930** _

“I never caught your names.” 

Daemon is the first to tip the brim of his flat cap in greeting. He appears to be the one most unfazed by Daenerys. “You may call me Daemon, miss. Daemon Allyrion,” he says, a faint accent in his voice. 

All men and women are affected by her presence in some way, her soulmate most of all which is apparent from the way Jacaerys’ palms sweat —she can smell it in the air— and how he shifts his weight from leg to leg. There have only been two instances where humans who are ignorant of her true nature have been unfazed by her. 

Lyanna was the first. Daenerys won her over with her own natural charm, not her pheromones or general vampiric appeal. The second is Daemon. This man serves as a potential obstacle that she’ll have no problem with removing herself if it comes to that.

“Jon,” Jacaerys says, stuffing his hands in his pocket to hide the sweat. “Jon Stark.” 

It takes great effort for Daenerys to mask her scowl at the false name. She will have to grow used to it despite her dislike for it. At the very least, she’s glad he remembers Lyanna’s maiden name. 

“Mr. Allyrion and Mr. Stark, thank you both for coming out this morning.” She falls into her performance of a meek damsel with ease.”Down this alley is where I saw it…”

They follow her down the long alley. 

It’s bright out today with a low chance of rain, without a cloud in the sky. She’s donning a powder pink, knee-length skirt with a matching blazer that has quarter sleeves and ruffled trimmings. Her pointed heels are cream and so is her clutch and gloves. Out of all of the eras of fashion, this one might be her favorite. 

“Did the ‘thing’ run out of that way?” Daemon asks, pointing with his thumb to where they entered. 

Daenerys shakes her head. She points at the other end of the alley. “That way. I was too afraid to follow it out…” 

Jon and Daemon head in the direction she points, their eyes glued to the ground to pick up on anything of interest. She follows them at a distance, ever mindful of the naive role she’s meant to play. 

Hunters and vampires have one thing in common for certain. The best way to draw them both out is with blood. Daenerys kept that in mind when she came up with this plan to send her sires out to wreak havoc in the city. She kept the attacks moderate enough to not warrant another Asshai incident but high enough to warrant an investigation. 

It was Arthur who suggested she make note of the hunter’s past patterns to determine what exactly required certain numbers to be deployed. 

She must thank Rhaegar for keeping Arthur alive. With him and Grey Worm, she has something akin to war generals on her side. Their strategic minds and loyalty to her family are great assets.

Closer to where the body was found, Jon squats down beside a dumpster, using his handkerchief to pick something up. It would appear he's already found the evidence Daenerys planted. He quickly pockets it. She pretends not to notice. 

“Ms. Targaryen, did you get a look at the victim at all?” Daemon asks. 

“Only when the medics carried their body out on the stretcher.” She’s sure to stare off into space, her eyes glossing over. “The...the sheet wasn’t on them fully and I saw…”

Jon steps forward, concern on his face. “You can tell us, miss.” 

Daenerys wonders if she were to start crying would he hold her. Perhaps that would be going too far. She will have enough time for that level of theatrics later. 

“The person’s neck had a huge chunk missing,” she says. “It was like some kind of animal bit into it.” 

“Have you shared this information with anyone else?” asks Daemon. 

“No, the other officer was too occupied with gawking at my cleavage to hear my account.” That actually did happen, though, she never intended to tell the man any of this to begin with. “Give it to me straight, did I have a wild night or did I really see what I think I saw?” 

Jon casts a wary glance over his shoulder. “Is there anywhere we could speak...in private about this?” 

Daenerys suggests the lounge since it’s a short walk from the alley and it’s much better than any of the pubs or diners on the strip in terms of privacy. 

The hunters walk on either side of her, something she never thought would happen in a situation where she didn’t fear for her safety. She worried that the men would sniff out what they—her, Missandei, and Viserys—were during their first meeting but the hunters are oblivious. 

The lounge is empty when they arrive. Daenerys offers them a drink from the bar, and they decline as she knew they would. The three sit at one of the round tables. 

“I don’t want to frighten you, miss,” Jon starts, placing his clasped hands on the table. “But I think it’s only fair for you to know what’s really going on here.” 

Not for a second does Daenerys believe he’s going to tell her the truth about them actually being hunters and of the existence of vampires. So, she isn’t surprised when he instead tells her that the city has another Jack the Ripper on the loose. As Jon tells it, local authorities are keeping this information under wraps as not to cause a panic. 

“We’re trusting you to keep a tight lid on this. I wasn’t supposed to share this information with you but I just thought you had the right to know.” Jon almost looks sincere but Daenerys has more than her eyes to offer her aid in deciphering the truth. “I doubt the killer will return to this area so you should be safe.” 

That’s his way of telling her this will be their last encounter. Daenerys doesn’t fret as she remembers Jon found the evidence she left just for him. They will be seeing one another again very soon. 

Daenerys is thanking the men for their time when Viserys enters the lounge. He smiles as he approaches them, and she hears Daemon inhale sharply. The sound is so faint that she’s certain she only heard it due to her proximity to the man. While Viserys introduces himself to the hunters, Daenerys pays close attention to the interaction. 

Viserys and Jon shake hands quickly, barely meeting the others’ gaze when they exchange names. Even in the past, they had a rocky relationship; mainly because of how their personalities clash. But they got along fine overtime. 

“Daemon, is it? The pleasure is all mine,” Viserys says as he shakes the man’s hand. 

The sweet scent of arousal and a tinge of apprehension rolls off of Daemon for the briefest moment. Viserys inhales the scent, smirking. He tightens his hold on Daemon’s hand before letting go. 

Interesting, Daenerys thinks. Daemon may seem immune to her but he isn’t immune to Viserys. In fact, he appears to be both attracted and intimidated by her brother. Interesting indeed. 

The hunters depart shortly afterward. Daenerys is pleased when Jon spares her another glance over his shoulder before the two walks out of the lounge. She waits until she can no longer hear their feet on the pavement before speaking. 

“He’s the same yet so different,” she says. “I assumed it would be this way but it’s taking time to get used to.” 

Viserys is staring at his hand, the same hand Daemon shook. Blinking sharply, he looks up and stuffs the hand in his pocket. “Did he find the gift you left for him?” he asks. 

“He did. I knew his strong nose would pick up on the scent. Everything's in place.” She tilts her head curiously. “Why did you come? Did you need me, brother?” 

“I wasn’t going to leave you alone with two hunters, Dany. There’s still a lot we don’t know about them or the magic they’re using.” 

Even Arianne has trouble figuring out the source of the hunter’s magic so Daenerys understands her brother’s concern. The most they know is that they’re using witches but they don’t know which coven the witches are from or what deity they serve; both things are essential to know. They went to see Arianne last night but the woman was out. Apparently, she’s in search of rare ingredients for a spell she’s cooking up.

“I don’t think they suspect me,” she says, linking her arm with Viserys’ arm. They head out of the lounge. “But I’m happy you came to check on me.” She smiles. 

Viserys doesn’t return her smile. “You shouldn’t let your guard down around Jacaerys just because you two are soul mates. He doesn’t remember you and he’s been trained to hate and kill our kind for most of his life. That prejudice isn’t going to just disappear easily.” 

It’s the hard truth Daenerys didn’t want to face. She doesn’t reply to Viserys as she can’t find the words to combat what he said, and she knows none of her reassurance will do any good. Her brother is rightfully worried. 

The hunters are not the kind of foe one should underestimate. And there may come a time when Jacaerys will have to choose between his real family and his faux one. She can’t assume that he’ll choose the former. 

They return to their manor that rests in the mountains lining the city. It’s a two-story gothic masterpiece. There’s a hedge maze in the backyard, adorned with marble sculptures. A powerful warding spell protects the estate from anyone possessing ill-intent toward any of the occupants. 

As expected, Missandei and Grey Worm are asleep in their room. They’re fledglings so they must rest during the daytime and refrain from direct contact from sunlight. Arthur is resting as well but not for the same reason. He’s responsible for whipping their fledglings into shape so that they can better protect themselves against hunters. Rhaegar and Lyanna are still asleep in their coffins as they have been for the past sixteen years. 

Daenerys lays on Viserys’s bed while he feeds on a leftover meal; a pretty-faced blond man who could pass for a woman if his face was done up. 

They all have their types, she’s realized. Rhaegar only feeds on physically fit humans, Daenerys has a preference for feeding on wealthy, privileged women; women, in general, taste better, especially when they sweat, and she chooses the privileged because they’re usually rude cunts. She likes killing rude cunts. As for Viserys, he loves feeding on pretty and vain people. 

“Daemon is exactly your type,” Daenerys says, musing aloud as she swings her legs in the air idly. “A man like that is surely vain, don’t you think?” 

Viserys pulls his mouth away from the blond man’s throat, blood dripping down his chin. He licks his lips, savoring the blood. “Daemon isn’t vain. He came off as shy almost. I have no interest in bashfulness.” He makes a face then returns to his meal. 

Daenerys is reminded of when she started to develop feelings for Jacaerys in the past. They weren’t meant to fall in love.

She knew him when he was a boy but back then she was more concerned with decadence rather than settling into a normal, family life like Rhaegar. So, she wasn’t around to witness Jacaerys grow into adulthood. She spent those years partying and overeating with Viserys. They dropped in to visit Rhaegar, Lyanna, and Jacaerys every now and then. She isn’t sure how often because back then life was a whirlwind for her.

She only knows that one day, Jacaerys was a small, energetic boy who clung to Rhaegar’s side whenever she and Viserys visited, then the next day, he was a strapping young man with a quiet intensity. In partners, she preferred loud and confident men, not sullen, withdrawn men. She never expected Jacaerys to win her over, but he did. To this day, she isn't sure why he pursued her, to begin with. 

“Your mind may change, brother,” Daenerys says to Viserys. “About Daemon that is. It’s always the ones we least expect.” 

The blond man is now asleep on Viserys’s lap while her brother pets his hair. The man is nothing more than a treasured pet to Viserys until he grows bored and seeks out a new toy. 

“Are you suggesting that my soul mate is a bloody hunter?” Viserys laughs. “Dany, please, don’t be cruel. I’d rather be alone for the remainder of my existence than end up with a filthy hunter. No offense." 

Daenerys hears what he’s saying just as she hears his unspoken words. Perhaps it's her own guilt she hears instead. She wants Viserys to have a soulmate so that they can heal the emotional wounds she gave him. 

She drops the subject.

* * *

“I had to tell her something,” is the first thing Jon says when they make it back to the room where they’re staying. He could tell that Daemon has wanted to say something to him during their walk here and decided to beat the man to the punch. “She would’ve worried herself into a fit over what she saw had I not.” 

Daemon gives a lazy shrug that’s incongruous to his nature. “I’m not judging you for lying, Jon. We lie all the time,” he says with a hint of sarcasm. “It’s part of the job. Part of our lives.” He kneels down beside the bed and reaches under it. “Now let’s have a look at what you picked up in the alley.” He pulls out his bag. 

They lay everything they need on the floor. A map of the city, a blood crystal, and the finger Jon found in the alley that he's certain the fledgling bit off. Why the creature would spit it back out is a mystery. They kneel down on either side of the map. 

“Say what’s on your mind, will you?” Jon says, irately. They’ve been partners long enough to read one another. 

Daemon sighs. “You told her there’s another Jack on the loose and you think she’s going to keep a tight lid on that?” 

“She doesn’t seem like the type to go off spreading rumors.” 

“Oh, and you know that after knowing her for collectively two hours?” 

As irritating as it is to admit, Daemon makes one hell of a good point. Jon’s being too presumptive in regards to a woman he doesn’t know anything about. He’s never cared this much about a civilian’s well-being. 

His old mentor used to chew him out for his lack of concern for others when he was out in the field. Jon used to only focus on killing the most vampires in order to sate the all-consuming rage inside of him. Because of his recklessness, innocent lives have been lost. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Jon says, picking up the bloody finger and placing it in the center of the map. “We’re going to find the fledgling tonight, kill it, and leave this place. She’ll never see us again.” He isn’t sure why the idea of never seeing Daenerys again makes him so uneasy. He ignores it. 

Daemon nods. Then he picks up the blood crystals and says the location spell. Right before their eyes, the finger dissolves into red sand that trickles down the map to circle around the location of where the fledgling is hiding. 

“They just had to be holed up within city limits,” Jon says, sucking his teeth. “If we go for it now, we could risk being seen.” 

“We can wait for nightfall and lure it into the woods.” Daemon’s blue eyes light up with excitement. “It’ll be a real hunt.” 

Even Jon can’t deny how exciting that is after months of easy jobs.

* * *

In their line of work, they’ve grown accustomed to the unexpected. That doesn’t mean that they enjoy it when it happens, however.

As soon as daylight disappeared, replaced by night, the fledgling is on the move. Daemon is in the middle of doing push-ups when the red sand on the map begins to form a line that follows the fledgling's movements in real-time. 

Quickly, he grabs the blood crystal and whispers the necessary incantation to transfer the dust to the crystal so that they can track the fledgling while they’re on the move. Jon already has his weapon’s belt strapped on and is sliding into his trench coat when Daemon is buckling his belt. Afterward, he hands the crystal to Jon. 

“Your eyesight is better,” Daemon says. 

Jon doesn’t argue with him. He wears the blood crystal around his neck, allowing the magic to move through him and guide him. Blood crystals are mostly used to contain spells, and the wielders of the crystal are temporarily given access to power they didn’t have previously. 

Now Jon can see where the fledgling is going as if he were inside the creature’s head. 

They don’t have any horses here nor do they have access to automobiles. They have to chase the fledgling down on foot which is just fine and dandy. They’re both in top shape and swift; Jon more than Daemon. To avoid causing a huge fuss, they move throughout the city's many alleyways, Jon leading and Daemon following close to his heel. 

King’s Landing’s nightlife has yet to pick up. The men have just got home from work to eat the meals their wives slaved over and to spend a portion of time listening to their kids ramble about school. In another hour or so, they’ll slip out of the house to go gamble, whore, and whatever else the city has to offer them. 

It occurs to Jon that this isn’t the ideal time for a hunt. If he were a fledgling he would make his move much later, closer to midnight. He wonders, for a brief moment, if this is a trap. To his right, the back door of what smells like a bakery swings open suddenly and Jon and Daemon move out of the way just in time to prevent crashing into the person who stepped out for a smoke. 

Jon’s thoughts return to the fledgling, forgetting all about a possible trap. Soon, they enter into a familiar area, a familiar alley to be precise. 

“Jon,” Daemon starts, having realized the same thing. 

“I know.” 

This is the same alley Daenerys showed them this morning. That realization doesn’t worry Jon as much as the new direction the fledgling takes does. In Jon’s mind, he sees the neon red sign and the name _Rhaella’s_. 

“Goddammit,” Jon curses, picking up his pace. “It’s heading to the lounge.” 

Daemon runs faster as well. His breathing is beginning to strain from exertion but he pushes himself nonetheless. That’s another reason why Jon appreciates his partner. The man never slacks and is willing to push himself beyond his limit with every hunt. 

Soon, they have to climb a fire escape and continue their journey on the roofs of several establishments, leaping from building to building, before they reach the alley that’s behind the lounge. 

“He’s already inside,” Jon tells Daemon as they climb down the fire escape. “Place seems empty…” Another image flashes in his mind of a woman sitting at a desk looking at papers. She doesn’t need to lift her head for him to know who it is. “Fuck, Daenerys!” 

There are two more flights of stairs left to go. Pressed for time, Jon jumps over the rail and lands perfectly on his feet. 

“Dammit, Jon!” Daemon shouts. He takes the jump as well but his landing isn’t so perfect. “Are you a bloody feline?!” 

Jon is too hyper-focused to make a comment. Reaching the back door of the lounge, he kicks it so hard it flies off the hinges. All he can think about is saving Daenerys. If that creature gets his hands on her, it’ll kill her. He can’t let that happen. Aside from her being an innocent civilian, there’s another reason why he doesn’t want her dead though he can’t begin to identify that reason. 

The lounge is closed to the public tonight. All of the lights downstairs are off aside from the light behind the bars. Jon heads up the stairs where he’s sure Daenerys is. He can’t see what the fledgling sees anymore and that worries him. If Daemon is behind him, he can’t tell because his heart is thudding loudly in his chest and his eyes are glued straight ahead. 

It’s dangerous for him to be so focused on one thing like this. He should be checking his surroundings to make sure there aren't other threats here. Suddenly, a frightened, high-pitched scream rips through the silence, followed by the sound of a deep growl.

Jon removes the gun from his hip. He can see the door to her office is wide open and from where he is, he can see papers and broken furniture strewn around the place. Another piercing scream echoes throughout the lounge. Daenerys runs out, her pretty dress torn, both straps hanging off her shoulders, and her hair is in disarray. 

At the sight of Jon, she outstretches her arms for him, pleading with him to save her. The fledgling runs out after her, fangs elongated, eyes full of malice. It lunges at the woman, claws at the ready. 

Jon shoots the fledgling in the shoulder, just enough to gain more time. At the sound of the gunshot, Daenerys trips over her own feet and falls to her knees. She crawls to Jon quickly, crying and shivering. 

“It...he...he tried to bite me!” she’s screaming hysterically. 

The fledgling comes for her again as if Jon’s presence means nothing to it. Jon finds that strange. Why wouldn’t the creature try to kill the person who shot it? It’s obvious that he’s the bigger threat here, not Daenerys.

The silver leaves a smoking hole in the fledgling's right arm but in order to kill it, he’ll need to aim the next bullet at either its head or its heart. 

Stepping in front of Daenerys, Jon aims his gun at the creature. But it runs up the walls with inhuman speed and crawls on the ceiling above their heads. Jon leans down and grabs Daenerys by the arm, sure to keep her behind him. 

The fledgling moves to attack them from above, but Daemon appears just in time. He cracks the floor with his silver chain before swinging it upward. The chain wraps around the fledgling’s ankle, burning the skin at the touch, and the creature howls in pain and anger. With a rough jerk of his arm, Daemon brings the fledgling down to the floor with a hard thud. Wasting no time, Jon shoots it in the head and its body explodes into a cloud of black ashes. 

Behind him, he hears Daenerys inhale sharply. He turns around and finds tears in her eyes and even a hint of grief? She looks at him and frowns deeply, and Jon can’t help but feel as if she’s disappointed in him for something. 

But she blinks and the look is gone. She’s trembling again and hugging herself. 

“It...what was that?” she asks, her voice cracking. “And don’t tell me it was nothing.” She stares at the ashes that are slowly dissolving, swallowing hard. “That’s not nothing...” 

Jon looks over at his partner. Daemon is giving him a look that says “I told you so” and Jon wants to ring the man’s head like a bell because even if Daemon did tell him so, he doesn’t have to rub it in.

* * *

“What you’re telling me is,” Daenerys says slowly, holding Jon’s coat around herself tightly, “that thing was a vampire and vampires are monsters that drink blood?” 

Jon nods. “I know it sounds mad and-” 

“After what I witnessed it doesn’t seem so mad.” Daenerys dries her eyes. For once, her tears aren’t for show. That fledgling was one of her children, made from her own blood. When they died, she felt it. “That’s what killed that man the other night. I remember its face.” 

Still, she has a role to play and a larger goal to achieve. Going into this, she knew sacrifices would have to be made and she’s willing to pay that price. Gerard won’t be the only child she’ll lose, she’s certain of it. The plan was for him to escape the hunters to prolong their hunt, to keep them here longer. But she never expected for Jon and Daemon to be this good. She continues to underestimate them. 

The only good thing that came from this is that Arianne was right when she said the hunters are also using magic to track down vampires. Now they have an idea of how that tracking is done. The finger she left behind was bitten off by Gerard so his saliva was on it. Do the hunters require a bodily fluid or just anything from the target in order to track it, she wonders. 

Jon moves closer to her on the couch, resting his arm behind her for comfort. They’re inside of her office. Daemon left, with reluctance, to give them privacy. Daenerys figures now is as good as any time to hug Jacaerys and feel his arms around her again but she’s hesitant. 

“Can I ask you something, Jon?” 

“Sure, miss,” he says. He looks at her in a way that reminds of her old times. 

If she asked him to kiss her and fuck the memories of tonight away from her mind, he’d do it. But Daenerys, after all of her longing and wishing, doesn’t want that right now. There’s something she needs to know. 

“How are vampires made?” she asks. To clarify her intent, she adds, “Were they born this way or were they human once?” 

Jon considers his next words. “They used to be human like you and me.” 

_We’re not human, my love_, she wants to tell him. Why can’t he recognize how unique he is? Surely he’s noticed how different he is compared to others. He’s faster, can hear and see better, and he can identify vampires better because his blood comes from the very first vampire. 

“You called them monsters,” she says. “But is it their fault they were turned into these things who drink human blood?” 

“I called them monsters because that’s what they are.” There’s an edge to his voice that doesn’t leave an invitation open for disagreements. “They kill people. They’re murderers.” 

That stings coming from him. Countless people have called her murderer and far worse but having Jacaerys say that about their kind is heartbreaking. She has to remember all that he’s seen, all that he’s gone through. He’s a product of his environment. 

“Are you and your partner not murderers as well? A life is still a life, regardless of how tainted.”

She's one to talk. How many lives has she taken? She only wishes for Jacaerys to see that vampires and hunters are both murderers, that's all. 

Jon frowns at her, his grey eyes brimming with disgust and even betrayal. “Without my partner and I and others like us, these monsters will drink the world dry. They’ve killed children, little babies, and they feel no remorse for it, I can assure you. It is in their nature to feed on humans for blood. They’re better off dead!” 

Daenerys jerks away from him, the sharpness in his voice startling her. There’s so much hatred inside of his heart, though, to him, he believes it’s justified. She wasn’t there that night the hunters attacked Rhaegar but from what her brother shared before his deep sleep, Jacaerys thought he was a monster there to kill him and his mother. 

What would he think if he knew his father wept for him? That he almost killed himself trying to travel to Castle Black to get him back? Would he care or is it too late? 

She begins to wonder if Jacaerys, no, Jon, is a lost cause. No, she mustn’t think that way. Their love will overcome this. In time. 

“Whatever sympathy you have in your heart for them, you should get rid of it,” Jon tells her, his eyes cold. “They won’t hesitate to kill you. You should treat them with that same kindness.” 

“I’ve offended you after you saved my life. I apologize. I was only wondering…” 

Jon sighs, raking his hand through his hair. “No, I’m sorry for yelling. You’re trying to make sense of all of this, I get it. I didn’t understand it much at first either.” 

“How old were you when you began hunting these...creatures?” 

“Too young. Look, miss, I shouldn’t have told you as much as I did but you deserved to know that things like this exist in the world. But I need you to never tell a soul about this.” 

Daenerys nods in understanding. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” 

“That’s the thing, I don’t really think you can keep something like this a secret.” He removes a vial from his pocket. It’s filled with purple dust. “And it’s nothing against you. This is just too big to keep a lid on. I didn’t want to do this because I don’t like to tinker with people’s memory but Daemon will just come back and do it if I don’t.” 

Frowning, she watches him pour the dust in his palm. “Jon, what is th-” 

He blows it in her face.

Instantly, Daenerys feels light-headed and her hearing is distorted. She falls forward but Jon catches her. She feels him lay her down on the couch gently with the tenderness she thought was stripped from him, and he caresses her cheek. 

“I’m sorry, Daenerys,” she hears before she’s swallowed by darkness.

* * *

“Did you do it?” Daemon asks as soon as Jon steps over the back door he kicked in earlier. 

Jon pulls his trench coat on, the scent of Daenerys still clinging to the leather. He hopes it sticks around for a while. “I did it,” he says. He picks up the door and leans it against the brick wall. “We should call the bobbies. She shouldn’t be in there by herself with the door all broken.” 

Daemon makes no protest. The man isn’t heartless, after all. They find a payphone to make the call. Jon tells the dispatcher that someone broke into the lounge and that he’s worried the owner was inside. He’s sure to mention that it’s a woman to make sure they send someone fast. 

To be on the safe side, they climb the fire escape of the adjoining building and wait on top of the roof until the police arrive. Thankfully, it doesn’t take them long to show up. One of the officers is complaining about how they’re missing out on the real fun to answer a call for a simple break-in. 

“They just found two bodies this time off of Aegon and Seventh street,” the officer says as they walk down the alley to the back door. “Both of their throats were ripped out. I hear it’s gruesome…” 

“You think it’s the same perp from the other night?” his partner asks. 

“Seems that way. Old Jack is back.” 

Jon and Daemon share a look. 

They leave the roof to go investigate. If the kill was made last night there’s a strong chance that the fledgling they killed already was responsible but if the kill is fresh that means they have another fledgling on their hands.

And that also means they’re not done with King’s Landing just yet.

* * *

With a sinister smile, Viserys licks the fresh blood from his claws as he makes his way down the dark alley. Ripping out throats is always a delight for him but this time he enjoyed himself more than usual. 

The men he killed were a couple of serial rapists from the neighboring city who had come here to add more victims to their sick little list. He could practically read their dark thoughts, smell the ill intent on them. Aside from getting rid of human waste, he’s doing a favor for Daenerys. 

Fledglings tend to get too messy. Even when Daenerys isn’t ordering them to leave evidence behind they’re a messy and careless bunch. So to prevent the hunters from leaving the city sooner than intended, he gave them a new job to handle. Except for this time, they won’t have a way to track him down. 

The only downside is the fear that more hunters will appear. Arianne has barriers set up around the city to alert them of the hunter’s presence so that’s a little reassuring. 

Sticking close to the shadows, he makes his way over to the lounge. The back door is off the hinges and leaning against the brick wall and the scent of Daemon and Jon is strong. They must have been sweaty, he thinks. That’s why their scents are still lingering. He makes his way into the lounge, keeping an ear out for anyone who may be lying in wait. 

He makes his way up the stairs, and that’s when he hears Daenerys telling someone that the call they received was a false tip and that they found nothing out of the ordinary here. When he reaches the doorway, he sees her compelling two police officers.

In a daze, the police officers leave the room, barely acknowledging Viserys’s presence. He watches them leave before turning to Daenerys. His sister is sitting on top of the desk, her dress torn and her hair frazzled. She still manages to look beautiful. She’s smiling to herself in the same way she does before she rips someone’s heart out and eats it. 

“That bastard tried to wipe my memories,” she says, laughing delightedly. “He didn’t want me to live with the burden of the truth, I’m sure. He’s still kind though his views on vampires are concerning...” 

Viserys steps into the room. “He tried to wipe your memories?” 

“It was a powder spell. It only made me sleepy for a bit. But from now on, I’ll have to act as if I’ve never met him. If he knows the powder didn’t work-” 

“He’ll start to grow suspicious of the ditzy blonde who seems to find herself in the center of all this mess.” 

Daenerys nods. “Now I need to think about where our first encounter will be this time…” She lays down on the desk, swinging her feet idly. 

She’s enjoying this little game of hers, Viserys can tell. 

“In the meantime,” he says, “I’ll begin working on Daemon.” It’s time for him to have his own fun. 

“Yes, do that. I don’t want him around during our next encounter.” 

“Consider it done, sister.”

* * *

With the appearance of two new bodies, Jon and Daemon’s time in King’s Landing is approved for an extension. Euron orders them not to leave until they’re certain they’ve wiped out every creature in the city. Their Lord Commander wants this problem handled quietly as not to alert the masses, meaning their job will be much harder now. 

“The coroner already took the bodies in,” Daemon says. He curses. “Once they start examining the body, any evidence we can use will be contaminated. We need to get the bodies when they’re fresh otherwise it’s useless.” 

Jon says nothing. 

He just stares out the window of their room, looking at the working girls on the streets and the cars driving by slow for a peek at the merchandise. The man has been like this ever since they left the lounge. Daemon assumes his conversation with Daenerys has something to do with it. 

“We need a new plan of action-” 

“Daemon, please,” Jon says, moving away from the window, clutching the front of his head. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow. We made a good kill tonight.” 

Another headache, is it? Jon used to get them a lot, usually after a night terror. Daemon wants to ask if there was something that triggered it this time but he knows better than to pry right now. Jon goes to lay down on his bed. He’ll need to stay that way until the feeling passes. 

Daemon decides to give him his space and time for now. 

They can head out in the morning to investigate further to get an idea of where the creature’s nest is. It fed tonight already so it won’t be out on the prowl again so there’s no worry about new victims popping up. 

Daemon leaves the room and goes for a walk to clear his head. Out of all the places they’ve been, he dislikes it here the most. It’s too loud. The sounds, the colors, the people are all too loud and overwhelming. He would hate to live here. In his memories, his home in Dorne was the same way but it had a certain charm to it that made it bearable. 

Of course, no thought of his childhood home is without thoughts of the night his family was murdered. He always loses himself in his mind when he remembers that night. And it’s dangerous for him to lose himself, especially when he’s out walking in an unfamiliar city. 

One moment, he was still in the Street of Silk and then the next he’s walking on a street he’s never seen before. It’s empty and quieter than the place he previously was. The only light comes from a nearby cinema. 

“Officer?” 

At the sound of the voice, Daemon turns to see the man approaching him. When he realizes who it is, he scratches the back of his head nervously. “Ah, Mr. Targaryen, is it?” As if he’s actually forgotten who this man is. 

Viserys Targaryen steps into the street light. His grey suit is crisp and clean, a silver pocket watch clasped in his elegant hands. He closes the watch and puts it in his pocket to offer his hand. 

“We meet again,” Viserys says. 

Daemon takes the man’s hand reluctantly. The last time they shook hands Daemon felt hot all over, a sensation that he’s learned to relate to negative emotions. But he takes the offered hand for appearance’s sake. It doesn’t burn as much as it did the last time but heat is there. 

“Do you live around here?” Viserys asks, looking around the dismal neighborhood. “I was sure this place was abandoned. Only the old cinema remains.” 

“Oh, no, I went out for a walk and found myself here.” 

“I see. Long night?” 

“You can say that,” he chuckles nervously. Why is he so nervous? He hates it. “And you?” 

It startles him how easily they make conversation with one another. Daemon prefers silence mostly, and when he is in the mood to talk he prefers to talk to Jon because the man’s answers are always short and to the point, never any small talk, or pretenses. And Jon isn’t afraid to tell Daemon to fuck off when he doesn’t want to be bothered. Daemon appreciates forwardness. 

“I like to come here to catch a show alone from time to time.” Viserys glances at the cinema. “But company is nice. Would you like to join me?” 

Daemon has never seen a film. Well, he’s seen bits and pieces. Once they had to chase a fledgling down in a small town and it ran into a cinema full of teens who weren’t supposed to be there. It was easy convincing them the fledgling was an asylum escapee. 

He should turn down Viserys’s offer and return to his room. He isn’t here to enjoy himself. In fact, his life isn’t one of enjoyment, not even for a little while. They were chosen for this life by a power higher than them. How else could one explain children having to witness such tragedies and live out their days with the memories? 

Viserys steps closer to Daemon, flooding the man with his intoxicating scent. “Consider it a small token of my appreciation, Officer Allyrion,” he says quietly. “You are a man of the law and I respect you for that.” 

Daemon speaks without thinking, “I would be honored to accept this token of your appreciation.” His words are true but that doesn’t mean he should’ve spoken them. 

“Delightful,” Viserys says. 

They walk to the cinema together in comfortable silence. At the booth, Viserys purchases two tickets for_ Nosferatu_, smiling to himself all the while. The theater is completely empty, and Daemon wonders if that’s why Viserys would come all this way. Does he prefer solitude? 

They sit in the back of the theater with a full view of the screen. As the picture starts playing, Daemon is momentarily enthralled by the moving images. It’s fascinating how far humankind has come. He stares at the screen with child-like wonderment, drinking everything in, amazed by the smallest of details. 

He remains like that for some time that he almost forgets that he’s there with someone. When he looks over at Viserys he finds the man watching him intensely. 

“Is this your first time seeing a film?” Viserys asks, his voice lacking judgment. 

Bashfully, Daemon nods. 

“I suppose I’ll let you enjoy it then.” 

Daemon frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“I wanted to get you alone so that I could kiss you but if this is your first film, I won’t distract you.” 

The bluntness is refreshing but also startling. Why would someone like this want to kiss him? He’s worthless. The only person who ever wanted him cast him aside for another pretty boy once he used him all up. And even when they did want him, they never kissed Daemon as that was far too intimate, and nothing about their relationship was intimate. 

Daemon chuckles dryly. “I’ve never been kissed either.”

It’s easier sharing these things with a person he’ll never see again. He brushes his hand over the memory powder in his pocket. He'll make sure Viserys never remembers tonight or the things he shared. 

“You’re a virgin?” Viserys asks, sounding surprised and disgusted. 

“Far from it.” 

“But you’ve never been kissed…” 

Daemon will wipe his memory before this night ends. So he doesn’t mind being candid. “He never wanted to kiss me. It was only my body he wanted.” Bitterness settles in his gut at the thought. He wonders what he did in his past life to deserve the life he’s lived up until now. “And he used my body as he liked, as much as he liked.” Until Daemon hardly recognized himself. 

He reaches into his pocket for the powder. That's enough of him feeling sorry for himself. The powder will wipe all memory of him from Viserys's mind. 

A gentle touch on his shoulder stops him. He looks at Viserys who is now leaning over in his seat, his eyes sincere. He cups Daemon’s face, rubbing a thumb over his lower lip. Heat blossoms all over Daemon again, and briefly he can feel Euron’s hands all over him and he wants to vomit. But then Viserys leans closer, his scent overpowering the repulsion. 

Daemon looks at Viserys’s lips. They look soft. 

“Daemon,” Viserys whispers, “you never met me here tonight. You went for a walk and got lost but you eventually found your way back. You will sleep well tonight and you won't let that man haunt your dreams any longer.” 

A calmness settles over him.

Daemon repeats the words back to Viserys, believing them to be true. 

Eventually, he makes it back to his room. Jon is waiting for him. When his partner asks him where he was Daemon tells him that he went for a walk but got lost. 

“But I found my way back,” he says. 

* * *

After leaving the cinema, Viserys finds someone walking alone in the city park, drains them, and drags their body out to the woods for the woodland creatures to pick over. 

Even still, he’s ravenous and beyond irritated; sexually. 

It crosses his mind to go to a pub and kill everyone inside but he stops himself and just goes back to the manor for the night. The others are in the common room playing a card game. Gambling is involved, and any other time he would join them. But he declines the invitation. 

Daenerys and Missandei are put out as they enjoy his antics during card games but Grey Worm and Arthur offer no protests. Viserys goes to his room, fixes himself a drink at his mini-bar even though it’ll take two whole bottles to get him even a little drunk, and gulps it down. His hands won’t stop shaking and he’s pacing. 

Daemon’s blue eyes flash in his mind. 

Viserys cracks the glass with his hand, cutting his palm. The wound heals before he even removes all the glass. He fixes another drink and begins pacing again.

Daemon’s lips flash in his mind, a shy smile tugging at the corners. 

Viserys curses and throws the new glass against the wall, shattering it to pieces. 

Fed up with everything, he throws himself on his bed and buries his face in the pillows. This can't be fucking happening. 

Later, Daenerys comes to check on him. 

“It’s not like you to pass up a good game,” she says, petting his hair. “What’s wrong, brother?” 

Viserys thinks of yelling at her to make her go away. But that no longer frightens Daenerys. She stopped being his scared little sister long before their mother turned them. Because he feels like he’s dying and it seriously terrifies him, he decides to tell her what’s wrong. 

“I think I’ve found my fucking soul mate.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had writer's block with this for a bit and it was super depressing. But thanks to a friend and constant support, I'm back! Thanks for reading. As always comments are appreciated and super helpful!
> 
> Next chapter: Jonerys meets again for the first time lol


	8. Lament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw; dark themes, hinted past child abuse, brief non-con of OC, trauma, angst

_ **King’s Landing - 1930** _

Arianne Martell has two places that she calls home. There’s her ritzy penthouse in the city with all the extravagances where she hosts wild parties, and there’s the one-bedroom, wooden shack in the outskirts of town where young girls come to have their pregnancies terminated. Occasionally someone will pop in for a love potion or a hex. 

The woman makes good money from her potions though she doesn’t need it being an heiress and all. In Dorne, the Martells are in the oil business. Arianne wears a glamour when she’s in her shack. To anyone unaware of the glamour she appears to them as an old woman with a hunchback, stringy grey hair, and cloudy white eyes. 

Her true appearance is much more comely. Viserys requests her true form immediately when he goes to see her tonight. 

“You’re shallow,” Arianne says, her withered voice morphing into a seductive drawl as she changes into her real form. Straightening up, she shakes out her long, brown curls. She’s a short buxom woman with deep brown eyes and olive skin. “Better?” 

“Much.” Viserys steps past her and walks into the shack, the scent of candles and herbs wafting to his nose. It smells the way it does after she cooks up an abortifacient. “How was your trip? You’re back earlier than expected.” He walks over to the circular table where she does fake tarot card readings for dimwit tourists. 

Arianne slides up against him, taking his lap for a seat instead of the three other available chairs. “What is it that you want, Viserys?” She curls her fingers through his hair. “In the mood to fool around again?” 

Viserys considers it. Fucking Arianne is always a good time, and she understands that their relationship is solely physical so there’s never a worry about miscommunication or misunderstandings. He also needs a distraction from his all-consuming thoughts about a certain blue-eyed hunter. Daemon’s face flashes in his mind, dismissing all thoughts of Arianne’s naked body writhing beneath him. 

“Not tonight,” he says. Is this how Rhaegar and Daenerys felt when they met their soulmates. “I need your help with something.” 

Arianne moves off his lap and takes the seat across from him. Idly, she skims her fingers over the spread-out tarot cards. “Is it about the hunters? I have everything I need for my location spell. I think my missing cousin is being held at the hunter’s lair. The spell will allow me to see her. Perhaps I can see how it looks on the inside as well.” 

“Tyene?” he asks, genuinely intrigued. The young witch has been missing for years. She was last seen in Asshai so naturally, her family assumed the hunters were responsible for her disappearance. “What are you waiting for? Do the spell.” 

“There’s a new moon Friday. That’s what I’m waiting for.” 

Friday is going to be a major day for humans and occult creatures alike. The big boxing match will be underway, it’s a new moon, and it’s also Daenerys’s birthday. He wonders if his sister will be in the mood to celebrate it this year. She hasn’t been in centuries understandably so. 

“Now,” Arianne says, grinning, “what do you want from me?” 

Viserys remembers why he came and gets irritated. He frowns. “I need to know if I knew this person in my past life…” 

Arianne’s smile widens. “Could this mean that you’ve found your soulmate?” 

“I never said all of that. I just want to know if I knew them or not.” 

“Sure.” She doesn’t believe him one bit. “Do you have something of theirs? Anything will do.” 

Of course, a personal belonging is required. Viserys knew that. It just slipped his mind. He wasn’t really thinking when he rushed over here after hearing Arianne was back. 

The whole Daemon thing has been bothering him all day. He didn’t even leave the manor, just laid around moping and trying to convince himself that he’s just misinterpreting things. Daemon can’t be his soulmate. For starters, he’s a man, and Viserys can’t mate with a man. 

But he’s never desired, children. Not even once. Perhaps that’s considered when a soulmate is created… 

“I’ll bring back something of his,” Viserys says, standing. 

“His? So, he’s a man. That’s interesting. You’ve always preferred men more.” 

She has a habit of talking as if she knows him so well. It irritates him. Normally when people irritate him, he decapitates them, but with Arianne, he lets it slide. She somehow managed to get on his good side which is a rare thing. 

“I prefer attractive people,” he says over his shoulder. “I’ll be back with what you need.” 

Now he has to just get Daemon alone and somehow get a strand of his hair without the man noticing. That shouldn’t be too difficult to do as long as Jacaerys is occupied with Daenerys which he should be. His sister has a new plan up her sleeve. 

* * *

The headache grows into a full-on migraine, leaving Jon bedridden all night and well into the following day. Daemon gives him water and food that he can hardly taste but the sustenance helps him keep his strength. 

He falls in and out of sleep, dreaming about his past, the present, and of things that have never happened at least in this lifetime. In each of those dreams, Daenerys is there. She looks different every time he sees her as well as her clothes and hair, and when she speaks to him she doesn’t call him by Jon but by a name he can’t remember. 

The only dream that sticks with him when he wakes up is of the both of them having a picnic under a wisteria tree. He leans in to kiss her but Daenerys stops him with a soft touch to his chest. 

“We can’t,” she tells him despite the want in her eyes. “We’re not supposed to...” 

Jon can’t hear what he tells her after that but they end up kissing anyway. When he wakes up, he can still taste her on his lips.

It’s nothing more than a dream, he’s certain. He’s guilty about wiping her memories the way he did and that guilt has him thinking about her a lot. Soon, he’ll accept what he did, move past it, and forget all about her. 

A part of him is eager for that. He doesn’t have time to occupy his thoughts with a woman he can never have, will never allow himself. Someone like him will never settle down and have a normal, happy life. Even allowing himself a moment with her feels underserved. 

Ygritte comes to mind; he nearly forgot about her. Well, her offer does. He knew all along that he would turn her down so why didn’t he just tell her that instead of prolonging it? Because he’s a piece of shit, that’s why. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Daemon says to him. He’s standing in the middle of the room, shirtless, doing simple drills. The man can’t sit still for too long without losing his mind. “I got more food for you.” He points to the small table by the window. 

Jon thanks the man and sits down to eat. He eats without taking note of what he’s actually eating. He’s hungry, no he’s ravenous. Food is food right now. Doesn’t matter if it’s tasty or not. 

“Any new leads?” he asks between chews. 

“No. I went out earlier today to have a look at where they found the bodies. This was a clean kill unlike the last one.” 

So, they’re not dealing with a novice this time then. That means it’ll be harder to find the creature especially since they can’t track it yet. Jon finishes the food, washes it all down with water, and then goes to take a shower. 

They have to use a shared bathing room down the hall that the working girls and guys also use. A couple of the girls are in there when he enters but he keeps his eyes to himself. He can’t say the same about them. 

They playfully flirt with him and Jon brushes it off with a smile. The workers here aren’t bothersome for the most part, honestly. And people in this neighborhood tend to keep to their own business and Jon appreciates that. 

After his shower, he returns to the room and dresses. 

Daemon is laying down on his bed prepared for a nap. Knowing his partner, the man probably left early in the morning and spent most of it looking for any clues. It’s Jon’s turn to do his part. 

“Heading out?” Daemon asks, yawning. 

“I’m going to see if I can pick up on anything your weak senses missed,” he jokes. 

Snorting, Daemon turns over, putting his back to Jon. “If you catch a lead come back and get me.” 

They both know that if Jon catches a lead he’s going to follow it all the way through to the end. He takes the map of the city with him just in case. Outside, the sun is beginning to set and the street is already alive. But the Street of Silk never really sleeps. 

If his memory serves correct, the bodies were found off of Aegon and Seventh street. That’s a good walk but he’s well-rested enough to make it. 

On every block, there’s a poster advertising the upcoming boxing match this Friday. The whole city is buzzing with excitement. Jon has never been to an official boxing match, but once he and Daemon entered an underground fight in Berlin after ending a job earlier than expected. 

They left the ring with a fair amount of winnings each and ended up giving it all to a couple of homeless kids with skin hanging off their bones. Had it not been for the Night’s Watch they would’ve been homeless or worse. 

Despite that, Jon can’t say that his loyalty to the order is undying. That sense of brotherhood and honor was ruined for him the older he got, the more he saw how ugly the world really was. Most of the other hunters treat it all like a competition to see who can earn the Lord Commander’s favor. Jon hears that those chosen by the man, like Ramsay, are given access to magic that’s otherwise out of their reach. 

Ramsay Snow can summon bloodhounds at will and those hounds can track down vampires faster and efficiently. Some say the man uses those hounds to hunt humans too; mostly women. But no one is brave enough to ask him if the rumor is true. 

And Jon honestly doesn’t care enough to ask. He’s learned the hard way that everyone can’t be saved, that people are born to die painfully, to suffer. He's certain that he’s one of those people and his time will come soon enough. 

The others can compete all they like. Jon has no interest in being Euron’s favorite nor does he require a grand title or gifts. He just keeps moving in hopes of crossing paths with the monster that killed his mother. 

From the little information the Night’s Watch has gathered, the creature has been around far longer than the order has and it’s believed that he’s the original vampire, the father of all the filthy vermin. There were several incidents in the past of whole villages being wiped out in a day. History texts blame the massacres on raiding parties but the hunters know who the true villain is. 

It was assumed that the massacre in Meereen was the father but the few survivors who witnessed the killings said it was a female. The Silver Queen they called her. 

Jon has a mile or so left from his destination when his palm begins to sweat and his right eye throbs as if his headache is returning. Touching the side of his face, he clenches his eyes shut briefly. When he opens them again, he’s met with a stack of pink boxes. He doesn’t get out of the way fast enough and ends up colliding with the person carrying the boxes. 

It’s not like him to not notice someone getting that close to him. It’s also not like him to make a complete idiot of himself like this. The boxes go flying all over the place, pastries spilling on the ground, and he’s certain he knocked some poor woman down as well. 

“You should watch where you’re going!” the woman shouts at him as she stands and brushes her skirt and fixes her hair. She scowls up at him, beautiful purple eyes ablaze. 

It’s her. It’s Daenerys. 

Jon’s words get stuck in his throat. He never expected to see her this soon. She’s pretty as a picture in her powder blue skirt and cream, silk blouse, her platinum blonde hair falls down her back in big curls. Her lips are pink and glossy. She always looks perfect even when she’s frazzled.

“Oh, will you look at this,” Daenerys says pointing at the ruined pastries on the cement. Putting her hands on her hips, she fixes Jon with a mean glare. “At the very least you can apologize, sir.” 

“Sorry, miss,” Jon says, a little breathlessly. He kneels down to pick up the only box that didn’t spill open. “I should’ve been paying attention. Forgive me.” 

Daenerys takes the box from him, her glare softening. “I was a little distracted as well truth be told.” She watches him scoop up the pastries and put them in the box. 

Even still, Jon should’ve noticed her long before they collided. His senses are usually sharp but she truly blindsided him. Perhaps he still needs to bounce back from his migraine. 

The pastries are ruined but he can’t leave them on the sidewalk like this. He cleans up the mess best he can and gathers all the boxes, leftover icing, and jelly on his hands. He feels sticky and gross. 

“The bakery isn’t too far from here,” she tells him. “I’ll need to make a new order and we can dispose of those there.” She turns on her heel. “I do hope you don’t have a prior engagement, sir. Because you’re going to help me with this errand.” 

She’s bossy, he thinks fondly. He never got to see any other side of her because she was always shaken up during their short time together so this is refreshing. During the walk to the bakery, Daenerys continues to chew him out for bumping into her and wasting her money and putting her behind schedule. 

“Got an important thing to get to?” Jon asks. 

“I own a business,” Daenerys says, “and I wanted to give my employers a small happy before the long weekend begins. Out of towners are already flooding the city for the match.” 

The lounge will surely get its fair share of patrons this week. The influx of people here is concerning, too. More people means more food options for the fledgling. It’ll be difficult determining where it’ll hit next. 

“I take it you’re a good boss then?” he asks. 

Daenerys opens the door to the bakery because Jon’s hands are full and messy. “I try my best to be one. What about you, sir? Do you work?” 

“I do.” 

“What do you do?” 

“City work,” he says vaguely. 

He sits the boxes on the counter while Daenerys explains to the attendant what happened and finds himself a washroom to clean his hands. The washroom is small and tidy. He feels like a cat stuffed in a shoebox in here. But it’s big enough for him to take a small breather after washing his hands. 

Five minutes. He’ll only give himself five more minutes with her then he’ll head out to do what he came to this city to do. He won’t allow himself to get swept up by her. 

Feeling confident in his plan, Jon leaves the washroom. Daenerys is seated at a small table by the window. When she sees him she smiles and waves him over. 

“The baker was kind enough to give me a discount on my new order,” she says. 

Jon takes the seat across from her. “I’ll cover the cost. It’s the least I can do.” 

“I’ve already paid.” 

“Is there a way for you to get your money back. I want to make up for the trouble I caused, miss.” 

Daenerys smiles and it spells trouble. “If you’re so keen on making it up to me how about you accompany me Friday night? It’s my birthday, you see.” She tucks her hair behind her ear shyly, her lashes fluttering. “I haven’t been up for celebrating it as of late but I’m in high spirits this year…” 

Why does this feel so familiar? He thinks his mother once told him that this was how she ended up on her first date with his father. For all he knows, he made the memory up, though. 

But no. No, he can’t accompany her Friday night for her birthday. He doesn’t even know if he’ll live to see Friday night or if he’ll be on the hunt or still in this city. He can’t make any promises, and if he could he shouldn’t. 

She looks so damn hopeful, though. 

“What do you have planned?” he asks, internally cursing himself for being so weak when it comes to her. 

Daenerys’s eyes seem to light up and Jon’s heart thumps. “I honestly don’t know,” she says, laughing sheepishly. “I just...I just want to have a good night with good company, and you seem like good company. So what do you say?” 

Jon fixes his mouth to feed her some excuse, but his mouth has a mind of its own. “If you don’t mind spending your big day with a sullen downer then by all means.” 

“I can’t think of anyone else I want to spend my big day with,” she says softly, looking dead at him, right into his soul. 

The baker brings out Daenerys’s order. She goes to pick it up from the counter and Jon still stares at the empty chair where she once sat. He knows her comment meant nothing as he means nothing to her; they just met, but it still makes him feel and want things he’s never felt or wanted before. It frightens him more than wights and fledglings ever have. 

“Come to this address by 8 pm on Friday please,” Daenerys says, handing him a small, black card. “Wear something semi-formal.” 

Jon takes the card and promises her he’ll be there.

* * *

If it weren’t for the constant rise in body count, Daemon and Jon would think the fledgling moved on to another city. They haven’t found a single trace of the creature, only dead ends. 

Each kill is clean and quick, leaving nothing behind for them to track it down with. They even check out the area where the other fledgling was resting during the daytime. They don’t find anything concerning. 

By Friday, they’re frustrated and near their limit. The last time they gave Euron an update the man seemed disinterested, not that that’s surprising. Lord Commander has a habit of prioritizing big jobs, and to him, this mess in King’s Landing is far from a big job. If Mormont were still around, he would've sent reinforcements days ago. Euron still insists on them staying until they’re certain all creatures in the city are dead and to report to him immediately if they come across something out of the ordinary. 

In Jon’s opinion, this entire mission is out of the ordinary. Having more than one fledgling in the city is standard but they’ve never taken this long to find them all and kill them. Most times the fledglings are traveling together. The strange thing about this job is the lack of evidence the fledgling leaves behind. It’s as if it knows what hunters usually look for during hunts. 

“You think they’re learning how to avoid us?” Daemon asks during their dinner of greasy hot sandwiches from the diner up the street. 

“Possibly.” Jon thinks about his promise to Daenerys. With the way this hunt is going, he has no excuse to not keep good on that promise. “I’ve got a thing to go to. When I get back, we’ll lure it out. We’ll use whatever method we can to finish this.” 

Daemon raises an eyebrow. “A thing? What kind of thing?” 

Jon knew better than to think his partner would let that slide. “Tend to your own business,” he says, standing. He needs to shower and find something semi-formal to wear. The suit he wore to the lounge won’t do. “Don’t start the hunt without me either.” 

“Do you have a date?” 

“A what?” 

“Now you don’t know what a date is?” Daemon snorts. “Of course you have a date. Is that why you’ve been absent-minded all week?” 

“Absent-minded?” He hasn’t been absent-minded. “What are you on about, Daemon?” 

“Staring off into nothing, brooding more than usual, not paying attention to me when I’m talking to you…” He pauses. “I could go on for days.” 

Jon doesn’t remember doing any of that for the past couple of days. He’s been throwing himself into this investigation to drown out his thoughts of Daenerys but she’s all he thinks about without him even trying. It crossed his mind several times to stand her up tonight, but the thought of her waiting around for him alone, on her birthday, no less, makes him ill. 

“Who’s the lucky girl?” Daemon asks, tilting his head. “Or guy?” Crinkling his nose, he shakes his head. “It’s definitely a woman…” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh, nothing. But if you’re taking the night off, I suppose I should do it. We’re not getting anywhere with this case anyway.” 

Now it’s Jon’s turn to tease. “Do you have a date?” he asks. 

Daemon ignores him. “Don’t keep your date waiting, Jon. I hear that’s bad manners.” 

“Prick.” 

Daemon laughs. 

After a shower, Jon returns to the boutique where he got his other suit and spends more time than he planned trying out different styles. As a hunter, he has two, standard outfits. His casual clothes; grey trousers, black, loose shirt. And his full hunting attire that consists of all black everything from his hat to his boots and a black cloak. He isn’t accustomed to the current men’s fashion, the slacks, argyle patterns, and button-downs. Especially not the suits but here he is putting on another suit. 

This one has a light grey vest and slacks with a darker shade of grey for the blazer. His pocket square, like his shirt, is a crisp white. When he looks at himself in the mirror, sees the suit and his slick hair, he hardly recognizes himself. What is this city doing to him? 

He hails a taxi to the address Daenerys gave him. Being in the back of the automobile is quite the experience to someone who is either on foot or horseback. It isn’t that jarring considering his use of teleportation magic but it’s an experience nonetheless. The driver talks up a storm and no amount of unenthused grunts from Jon are enough to quiet the man. 

Thankfully, the drive isn’t too long. When the car pulls up outside a hotel, Jon stares up at the tall building and feels like an ant. The lobby is decorated similarly to how _Rhaella’s_ lounge is which makes him wonder if Daenerys and her brother own this as well. The siblings are wealthier than he assumed if that’s the case. 

“Are you here for Madame Targaryen?” a tall, olive-skinned man with purple eyes asks. He’s wearing a black vest and black pants and a blank expression on his face. 

Jon stares at the man’s face, a sense of familiarity flooding him. It’s odd. He feels like he’s seen this man before but he knows that he hasn’t. Nodding stiffly, he clears his throat. 

“Yes, I’m here for Madame Targaryen.” 

“Ah, right this way,” the man says, turning on his heel. “She’s waiting for you in the ballroom.” 

The ballroom? Jon hopes she doesn’t want to spend her birthday dancing. He’s never danced before but something tells him he’s not good at it. 

“Are you Dornish?” Jon asks the man, forgetting his manners completely. It’s just that he can’t shake the feeling that he knows this man. 

The man glances at him. “What gave me away?” he asks, smiling. 

“Your accent is very strong.” 

“I am from Dorne but it’s been some time since I’ve been home. I suppose the accent sticks with you.” 

“Arthur Dayne,” the man says, extending his hand. 

Jon takes his hand and shakes. “Jon Stark.” He watches the way Arthur’s eyes soften. Then the man blinks and the look is gone. “Are you Daenerys’s…?” 

“I’m in charge of keeping her and the family’s interests safe. This hotel is new and we’re still adding finishing touches.” 

Well, that explains why the place is so quiet and empty considering there are a lot of tourists in the city for tonight’s match. The lounge is going to be packed, he just knows it. It makes him wonder why Daenerys didn’t suggest they meet there instead. 

Perhaps she wants more privacy. Jon considers what that could mean and his palms begin to sweat again. He’s not a green boy. He’s been with a woman before, but that was different. It was done out of curiosity, not attraction or passion. Now that he knows what it’s like, it’d be something wholly different with Daenerys; something tangible. 

Dismissing the thought, he returns to the present moment. Arthur opens the double doors of the ballroom and steps aside to let Jon in. 

“Enjoy your evening, sir,” Arthur says before walking off. 

Daenerys is seated at a small round table on the edge of the ballroom. In the dim lighting, her pale skin is radiant and her eyes sparkle. She’s wearing a lilac, sleeveless gown with a feathered skirt, a sheer top with a deep cup, and the dress’s sash is dark grey like his blazer. They’ve managed to coordinate without trying. 

She smiles at him, pretty red lips spreading open to reveal her pearly whites. Gods, she’s too perfect. So perfect that he doesn’t want to touch her out of fear of tainting her somehow. 

“You came,” she says. 

Jon stuffs his sweaty hands in his pockets. “I did.” He returns her smile. 

* * *

Daemon can’t remember how he got here. 

Well, that isn’t true as he remembers leaving the room, he remembers walking through the lit streets of the bustling city, walking down roads never taken and curiously reading the names of different storefronts as he passed. He also remembers the moment he made the decision to take a right instead of a left, knowing full well where that right turn would take him. 

What Daemon can’t remember is the driving force behind coming to _Rhaella’s_. He isn’t even dressed for a night out at a place like this; a simple white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and brown, tweed trousers held up by black suspenders is hardly lounge attire. 

Daemon stands outside of the lounge, staring at the red neon sign absently. 

The boxing match is still underway at the city’s arena. If he listens closely and ignores the beeping horns of passing automobiles, he can hear the announcer and the roaring cheers. Even though the match isn’t over there’s already a line outside of the lounge. The early bird crowd is trying to beat the rush it would appear. 

“Bo’ isn’t going to let you in,” a smooth voice says. A man steps out of the dark alley wearing a black tuxedo smoking a cigar. “We have a strict dress code, you see.” He blows out a strange blue smoke that smells sweet like flowers. 

At the sight of Viserys Targaryen, Daemon’s back straightens as he becomes fully aware of how underdressed he is. Why did he come here? Looking like this, no less? 

“I figured as much,” Daemon replies, chuckling nervously. “I’m sure I can find a pub that’ll take me as I am.” 

Viserys cracks a smile, slow and easy. “If you’re just interested in a drink, allow me.” He glances around then waves Daemon over. Lowering his voice, he says, “I know another way in.” 

Daemon shouldn’t. He should return to the room, do some sit-ups and drills, brush up on his research, and focus all of his attention on the hunt, not on this beautiful man with spellbinding eyes. His feet move on their own, however. And soon, he’s walking inside the lounge through a side door. 

Instead of going where the live music is loudest, Viserys leads him up a spiral staircase that takes them to the hallway where the many rooms are. As they pass, Daemon can hear the sounds of pleasure, both real and false, through the doors. Viserys makes a passing remark about the girls working overtime this weekend. 

“You just admitted to an officer of the law that there is prostitution underway,” Daemon says. “I could have you arrested.” 

Smirking, Viserys opens a door that sits adjacent to Daenerys’s office. “Then arrest me, officer.” 

Daemon follows him in, smirking as well. “I’m off duty.” 

“Lucky me.” Viserys removes his tuxedo blazer in a way that shouldn’t be as appealing as it is. He’s tall and lean yet there’s a gentleness to his frame; steel and porcelain. “What do you fancy?” he asks. 

“Whiskey.” 

“Coming right up. Please make yourself comfortable.” 

Did he truly walk in here without taking in his surroundings? Daemon mentally scolds himself for the slip-up. Had this been a trap he would’ve been in serious trouble. 

The room isn’t an office but a smaller lounge area complete with sofas, chairs, and one small bar. There’s a record player that’s quietly playing a song Daemon can’t make out in the background. He gets the feeling this is Viserys’ personal area. 

Now he’s wondering what the room is really used for. Does Viserys bring people up here? Other men? Daemon isn’t even sure if Viserys prefers men. He isn’t even sure why that matters to him. 

“Here you are,” Viserys says, walking over to hand Daemon his whiskey. “Will you stand and drink, officer?” 

Daemon accepts the whiskey and takes a seat on the sofa. He stares at the amber liquid before taking a sip. Viserys sits down beside him, his own drink in hand. They sip in silence for some time. Being this still makes Daemon a little antsy. If he isn’t sleeping, he should be doing something, anything. He starts to think about the hunt and possible outcomes of it. 

“Even when you’re off duty you’re always working, aren’t you?” 

Blinking in surprise, Daemon looks at the man. “What do you mean?” 

“I can tell that you’re not here fully. Thinking about a case?” 

“Yes. Sorry. It’s a bad habit.” 

“No, it’s fine. If it’s the case I think it is then I understand why it’s occupying your mind when you’re in my presence. Even I can’t outshine Jack the Ripper.” His smile is charming, inviting. 

Someone this beautiful has earned the right to be arrogant. 

Daemon knows bait when he sees it. “Who said we were dealing with another Jack the Ripper?” Perhaps Daenerys shared this with her brother before Jon wiped her memory. 

“I only assumed someone just as monstrous could commit such monstrous acts.” 

“The monster we’re dealing with makes Jack the Ripper seem mild, I can assure you.” Daemon drinks the remainder of his drink, grimacing from the taste. “And that is all I’m allowed to share with a civilian. You understand, don’t you?” 

“Oh of course.” Viserys points at his glass. “Care for another?” 

“I shouldn’t.” 

“But you’re off duty. How often do you get downtime?” 

Daemon never gets downtime. In between assignments, he’s mentally preparing for the next job or he’s training. He lives and breathes the hunt because without it there’s nothing left for him but darkness. Being on the move helps him ignore memories from his past that are always lurking in the shadows waiting to drown him. 

But just one more drink couldn’t hurt. He doubts he’ll get drunk from two drinks, anyway. 

They have a second round, and this time around they actually talk. Viserys let’s slip that his family owns several businesses around that city, that overseeing all of them can be tiring. Somehow they get on the topic of marriage and Daemon learns that Viserys was once arranged to be married to one of the many eastern princesses. 

“It feels like it was ages ago,” Viserys says. “My father was hoping to start a new business endeavor with her family but that never happened. Have you ever been engaged, Daemon?” 

Daemon chuckles ignoring how the sound of his name on the man’s lips makes his heart beat faster. “No, never.” He’s never dated anyone, either. Those are luxuries not meant for members of the Night’s Watch. “Will you find a new fiance?” 

“Possibly. I will need to take a wife if I want my family line to continue.” 

That makes Daemon sad for some reason. Perhaps because he can tell that that isn’t what Viserys truly wants. He stares at the man’s profile, at his delicate features, and wonders if Viserys would prefer to marry a man instead. 

Although that could never be. Men are meant to only enjoy other men, in secret depending on the area, but never marry one. With the world’s steady advances, it's still not ready to take that leap. 

Viserys turns his head and their eyes meet. The smart thing to do would be to look away, pretend the eye contact never happened, but after only two drinks Daemon is daring. He never imagined he would be a lightweight. 

“You have beautiful eyes, Daemon,” Viserys whispers, leaning in. “I’ve never seen eyes so blue.” 

“As do you…” Absently, Daemon licks his lips. “...Viserys. Your eyes are beautiful too. They’re like summer lilacs.” 

Viserys stiffens, looking as if no one has ever said such a thing to him. Then his gaze and his body soften as he closes the distance between them. He touches Daemon’s face. This close, Daemon can feel Viserys’s breath on his skin, smell the sweetness of his cigars and the fruit from his wine. 

“May I kiss you?” Viserys asks, his voice raspy and shaky. 

Daemon frowns in confusion. He’s never been asked anything like that. When Euron wanted him, he took him. He never asked. It’s strange that Viserys is asking when it’s clear it’s what the man wants to do. He also can’t believe that someone wants to kiss him. He thought kisses were reserved for people of worth. 

As odd as it is, he thinks he likes being asked. 

“Yes,” Daemon says. 

Viserys touches the other side of his face, and Daemon instinctively stiffens, his hands trembling in his lap. Pleasure and pain go hand in hand, he reminds himself. He prepares himself to experience both. However, Viserys’s touch is so tender and so tentative and his kiss is more of the same. Daemon's eyes fall shut, his body fully relaxing. 

How is it that he flinches when someone brushes past him or touches him without warning but with Viserys he wants to fall into the touch, not run from it? 

Kissing is not what Daemon thought it would be. From afar, it seems disgusting to exchange saliva with another person. But there’s nothing disgusting about Viserys’s lips against his or the way he licks at Daemon’s lips before nipping them lightly. He even enjoys the feels of Viserys’s hands in his hair. When Viserys tongues presses into his mouth, Daemon clutches the front of the man’s shirt, moaning quietly. 

Viserys breaks away then, breathing heavily, eyes no longer lilac but a darker purple. If desire had a face it would look like his at this moment. 

For a second, it looks as if Viserys is going to press Daemon on the couch and have his way with him, and Daemon can’t say that he minds that with the way the kisses have ignited something inside of him. But Viserys moves away from him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Daemon touches his lips. They’re warm and they’re tingling. “Why is that? I know I’m a novice but I wasn’t that terrible, was I?” He’s joking, Partially. 

Viserys shakes his head. “You’re the farthest thing from terrible, Daemon.” His eyes are sincere for the briefest of moments. Then they’re unreadable. “I just...I should return to the lounge. I’m sure the crowd from the match will be arriving soon.” 

This is a good thing, Daemon thinks. Now he can return to his reality. Being around Viserys makes him think and do things he normally wouldn’t think or do. He allows the man to walk him out. When they’re in the dark alley, with only the yellow glow from the street light illuminating their faces, Viserys kisses him again. Just a soft peck on the lips. 

“I hope I can see you again, Daemon,” he says quietly. 

“I hope the same.” 

Yet neither of them make plans or promises to make that happen. It crosses his mind to wipe Viserys’s memories since Daenerys’s were wiped and she no longer remembers meeting them. 

Leaving Viserys’s memories intact could lead to minor problems in the future but if Daemon uses the powder it’ll wipe him from the man’s mind for good. That means their kiss will be erased, too. He chooses not to use the powder for purely selfish reasons that he’s sure he’ll soon regret. 

Daemon thought the walk back to the room would clear his head, still the beating of his heart, but he’s still in a haze when he reaches the Street of Silk. He supposes that’s why he gives in to the flirting of one of the working men that he’s seen a handful of times. The man has made passes at Daemon before but he’s never paid him any mind.

After his night with Viserys, he’s curious and more aroused than he’s ever been. They go inside a room that’s used for these sorts of transactions. It’s small, poorly decorated, and holds the scent of sex, cigarettes, and other unknown things. The sex worker doesn’t allow kissing, not that Daemon wanted that, anyway. He isn’t ready to replace the taste of Viserys. 

But the worker is fine with everything else. Daemon expects for the mans’ touches to amplify the way Viserys has already made him feel but he’s sadly mistaken. Every touch makes Daemon feel dirty and wretched. Every time the man looks at him, Daemon sees Euron smiling back at him.

He thought he was past this because when Viserys touched him, Euron never crossed his mind, but now Euron is all he hears, sees, and smells. The man is laughing at him, taunting him, reminding him that he’s nothing without him. 

“Hey, are you okay?” the worker asks him. 

Daemon opens his eyes, blinking away tears. He didn’t realize he’d covered his ears to block out the sound of Euron’s haunting voice.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, fumbling around in his pocket for money. “I’m so sorry…” He gives the worker everything he has in his pocket then rushes out of the room. 

He runs to the shared bathroom, grateful that no one else is inside, and goes to the last stall, turning the shower on as hot as it can go. He doesn’t remove his clothes. He just stands under the scalding hot water in hopes that the heat will burn the touch away from his skin.

* * *

This has happened before Jon is sure of it. 

“Follow my lead,” Daenerys says, taking his hands and beginning the waltz again. “You have to loosen up a bit. You’re so stiff.” She teases. 

Yes, this has definitely happened before, but Jon doesn’t have any memories to back up his claim. Only his emotions. He follows Daenerys’s lead as best he can, trying not to step on her dainty feet again; he’s done so three times already. They spin around the ballroom to the music of a Russian composer he can’t recall the name of. 

They had dinner earlier with some of the best food Jon has ever had in his pitiful life, and their conversation was just as good. Daenerys is a well of knowledge and she knows how to fill in for his one-word responses without overwhelming him or tiring him out. Long conversations tend to exhaust him, but not with Daenerys. She’s quite the catch, even he has to admit. 

Whenever it crosses his mind that there are probably countless men out there who wish for her favor it irritates him. So, he doesn’t think about it and instead stays in this moment with her while he can. 

Following dinner, she told him that she wanted to dance and he bashfully admitted that he had two left feet. 

“I’ll teach you,” she offered easily, and that was the instance Jon could’ve sworn she’d said that to him before. “Come on. It’ll be fun.” 

And that’s how he ended up as her, less than willing yet participating nonetheless, pupil. Admittedly, dancing with Daenerys isn’t half bad even if he’s shit at it. 

“Pay attention to my movements,” Daenerys instructs calmly. “There’s a pattern. You just have to learn it.” She takes a step back then a step to the side, her movements fluid. 

Jon follows her movements whilst keeping his eye out for the pattern she’s speaking of. But then the song’s chords change, throwing him off. He almost steps on her foot but stops himself in time. 

“Don’t mind that,” she says, patiently. “Usually we would do something different when that happens but since you’re a beginner let’s just focus on getting this part down.” She blinks up at him with her pretty lashes. “Keep your eyes on me.” 

This entire time he’s been trying to keep from doing just that. Staring at her for too long makes him dizzy. The source of the sensation is unknown, and he’s never had this kind of reaction toward anyone, but he assumes it’s just him being awed by her beauty. 

There aren’t women like Daenerys at Castle Black. 

And he’s seen his fair share of beauties during his travels but none of them compare to Daenerys. She’s truly ethereal which is probably why just looking at her makes him feel as though he were being ripped apart slowly. 

Despite that, Jon keeps his eyes on her, her face, her deep, mesmerizing eyes that appear to glow in the dim light as they spin around the room. Blinking hard, he shakes his head, fearing that he’s hallucinating; it wouldn’t be the first time. 

When he opens his eyes again, Daenerys’s eyes are normal again but her hair and outfit are completely different and so is the ballroom they’re standing in. It’s larger, grander, and full of people. Even the music has changed. On the dance floor, there is another couple whose faces he can’t see. The tall man has long, silver hair, and the woman’s hair hangs down her back like a dark curtain. 

“They’re watching us,” Daenerys whispers to him. She’s wearing a sweeping red gown complete with a corset and frilly sleeves, her bosom exposed. “Shall we give them a proper show, Jacaerys?” She smiles as she leans in to kiss him. 

The world around him switches back to the present moment once their lips touch. Jon’s heart literally explodes in his chest from the overwhelming emotions the kiss evokes. He’s never felt anything so intensely. Even his first orgasm wasn’t as visceral. Then there’s the assault on his head. It’s as if the vault inside of his mind is sprung open, flooding him with scattered images that he can’t begin to make out. 

Frightened, Jon shoves Daenerys away and staggers back. They’ve stopped dancing but the room is still spinning all around him and the floor is shifting under his feet. He isn’t sure where they are anymore; if they’re in the ballroom at the hotel or in the grand ballroom of his hallucination. He doesn’t know why he would even hallucinate such a thing. 

“Jacerys?” He hears Daenerys say, her voice full of concern. “Jacaerys?” 

Who is that? Why is she calling him that? She says the name again and it echoes in his mind until it drives him mad. Jon runs out of the ballroom, a cold sweat breaking out all over him. He thinks he hears Arthur asking him if he’s alright. He can’t be sure. 

Jon runs outside, the night air a small relief on his clammy skin. He runs as fast as his body will allow, barely escaping several cars as they fly by, their honking horns making his head pound. A wave of nausea hits him once he makes it to the other sidewalk and he empties his stomach on the pavement. 

“Jacaerys...what’s wrong?” Daenerys asks. 

Damn. Why did she have to follow him out? Why did she have to witness this? Jon feels embarrassed on top of the heap of emotions he’s currently experiencing. How strange that he’s been deprived of feeling since his mother was killed but one kiss from Daenerys has him feeling everything all at once. 

It feels like he’s dying. 

“Stay away from me,” he says, coldly. If he’s mean enough maybe she’ll keep away for good and walk in a different direction if they ever cross paths again. What happened tonight further proves that he’s too fucked up for the likes of her. “Go away.” 

“You don’t mean that,” she says, her voice trembling. He can tell that she's crying.

Gods, he fucking hates himself. 

“I said go!” he shouts, putting all of his anger and bitterness into it. He wants her to go and find someone worth her time because he isn’t. 

Jon doesn’t hear Daenerys leave. He senses her absence. And once she’s gone, he peels himself off the pavement and walks away without a destination in mind. Normally, he doesn’t care for the rain but he wishes it would rain now to mask the tears on his face. 

* * *

“All done,” Arianne says, giving the black potion a final stir. “Now, give me something of his.” 

Viserys hands her the strand of hair he pricked from Daemon's head during their kiss. It nearly slipped his mind to nab the hair, honestly. He didn’t expect the kiss to leave him breathless like that. He can’t recall a time anyone or anything has left him breathless. 

Then again, he’s never been attracted to anyone this much. People have always been toys to him to play with until they bore him. Then he casts them aside and finds a new toy. It wouldn’t be that way with Daemon. Soulmate or not, he can’t play with him like that.

Fuck, he’s growing soft. 

Arianne drops the hair into the potion and it incinerates instantly, changing the liquid from black to sky blue; the color of Daemon’s eyes. 

“Drink this later when you’re in a safe place. It will put you in a deep slumber.” Arianne covers the vial with a cork. “Your dreams will show you the way. If you don’t dream of him, you will have a peaceful sleep.” 

“Thanks.” Viserys pockets the potion. He’s nervous to see what will happen but he needs to know. “When do you intend to perform your location spell?” 

“Now," she says matter-of-factly. 

Viserys stands back while Arianne puts everything in place. She clears the floor and draws a large, circular symbol that's accented with various words from a long-dead language, chanting under her breath the whole while. Once the symbol is drawn, she lays out the ingredients she gathered from Essos. Most of it is just herbs that don’t grow in the woods surrounding the city.

The most interesting thing she places in the center of the symbol is two eyeballs that seem as if they once belonged to a blind person. 

“You’re using Meria’s eyes for this spell?” Viserys askes, stunned. Meria Martell was the first known sorceress in the family’s line. Arianne’s covenant worships her almost as much as they worship the goddess Nymeria. 

“Tyene is still alive.” Arianne picks up a short dagger, dragging it down her palm, slicing it open. She holds her hands over the eyeballs, covering them with blood. “I will do anything to bring her home.” 

Viserys takes a cautious step back, knowing from experience the power Meria’s eyes hold. The moment Arianne finishes the incantation, her hair whips around her face as her own eyes roll white. The floor beneath them trembles, the blind eyes spinning rapidly. A gust of wind blows the door open, a great howling filling the space. 

Arianne digs her nails into the floor, a sweat breaking out over her brow. Then she grins. “I can see,” she says. 

“What do you see?” 

* * *

_A woman is sobbing as a man moves on top of her at a hard, quick pace, his grunts tinged with sadistic laughter. The woman’s hands are shackled and with good reason. Her nails are long and as sharp as claws, colored a deep black. Upon a closer look, it’s clear that this is a female fledgling. _

_Chained to the wall beside her are other female fledglings, all nude, but none are crying like the other. It would seem that they’ve shed all of their tears. Two of the fledglings are heavy with child, their bellies protruding in an abnormal way. _

_“This is not without purpose,” an eerie voice is saying. “Do not think ill of me, my little flower. You can’t know how many times I have tried to create life with these dead things.” The man is watching from afar with a young boy kneeling at his feet, an iron collar around his neck. “I doubt those two will give birth successfully.” He points to the two chained to the wall. “And that one.” He points to the fledgling being taken on the filthy floor. “She disappointed me so I fed her to my dog…” _

_“My Lord,” a woman in a red robe enters. Her hair and eyes are the same shade of red. Her pale skin is sickly and there are deep bags under her lifeless eyes. Following behind her are two others dressed in black robes, their faces shrouded. “Pyat Pree believes he knows the location of the pureblood you have been searching for..." _

_Using a little more of her power, Arianne tries to peer at the faces of the women behind the Red Woman. One of them might be Tyene but she can’t be sure as they are wearing hoods. As soon as she stretches out with her mind, the Red Woman looks directly at her. _

_“My Lord-” _

_The man raises his hand to silence her. “I know. I noticed the moment they joined us.” _

_He pets the top of the boy’s head then he turns around and looks at Arianne too, a smile on his blue lips. Slowly, he lifts his eye patch for her to see what’s hidden underneath._

* * *

The sound of Arianne’s sudden bone-chilling screams pierces the air. She falls to the floor, writhing, and clawing at her eyes. Her nails dig into her flesh, creating deep gashes and drawing blood.

Viserys rushes to her and pries her hands away from her face. “Arianne! What happened?” he demands, panicking “Arianne!” 

Arianne begins sobbing uncontrollably and begging for Viserys to end her life, to make the pain stop. He’s never seen her this way and it’s honestly terrifying. Thankfully, members of her coven rush in and take her to the back room. 

He explains to them that she performed the location spell, and that appears to be all they need to now. Viserys stands in the doorway and watches them cast a spell that heals the marks she gave herself and gets her to calm down. 

Even with the spell, it’s clear that she’s still shaken up over what she saw when she peeked inside of Castle Black. She's still shivering and crying. Viserys wants to know exactly what she saw but knows now isn’t the time to press her about it. Arianne cries herself to sleep and cries even in her sleep. 

“She will be out for a full day,” one of the members informs him. “Difficult to say if she will remember what she saw when she wakes up.” 

Then all of this would be for nothing. 

While Arianne sleeps he sits on the floor beside her bed. Some time passes before he decides that he might as well take the potion she made him and see if what he suspects is true or not. 

With the potion, sleep comes to him easier than it ever has, and Viserys dreams of the time when they lived in Spain. 

-o0o-

They were living with a Baron and his family whom they’d compelled to overlook their vampiric nature and see them as nothing more than normal humans that came from a wealthy, noble family. Lyanna and Jacaerys perished before this time and their loss was greatly felt by each of them, their respective soulmates most of all. Daenerys rarely left the manor meanwhile Rhaegar was rarely home. He stayed out all night, sometimes for days on end, and when he returned he was sadder than he was when he left. 

Viserys found his own fun though it wasn’t the same without his siblings. 

The Baron had a prized stable boy that he’d taken in at a young age. The boy was given privileges that other servants weren’t allowed and treated well. Rumor had it that the stable boy was actually the Baron’s bastard son but no one spoke of those rumors around the Baron’s wife. 

Honestly, Viserys never paid the young man any mind initially. He would always wish Viserys a safe journey whenever he went into town and it was if he waited around for Viserys to return. Then out of pure boredom, Viserys stuck around longer than usual to have a conversation with him. That was when he learned his name was Daemon. 

It was also when he noticed how blue Daemon’s eyes were. Viserys remembers being disappointed in himself for ignoring Daemon this whole time. He started to talk to Daemon more. Sometimes he went out to the stables just to see him though he wouldn’t dare admit that. 

One day before Viserys set off for a journey into town, Daemon intended to confess his love. When Viserys realized that was what he was trying to do, he disrupted him and said he was in a hurry. He panicked, truth be told. And when he panics, he claws his way out of situations at all cost. He thought about his harshness during his entire time in town and found no joy in the usual games he liked to play with the insipid humans. 

Viserys told himself that when he returned he would see if Daemon wanted to go riding with him. He even entertained the thought that Daemon was meant for him as Lyanna was meant for Rhaegar and Jacaerys for Daenerys. 

However, when he returned to the manor, every single occupant was dead, their bodies completely drained of blood. That night was the start of Rhaegar’s dark state. His brother slaughtered every human in sight, Daemon included. 

The sight of Daemon’s beautiful blue eyes wide with terror was too much even for Viserys to bear. So, he locked the memory away forever. He made himself forget about the Daemon. 

He thought the gods overlooked him but this outcome is much worse. To think, it was his beloved older brother who robbed him of his happiness, not the gods. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the support for this fic! It keeps me going during this hectic time. I know a lot of you missed Dany's POV this chapter but my good sis will return next chapter of course! And please don't give Jon any hate. Be mindful that he has a mountain of childhood trauma to get through <3
> 
> featured art is my commission from dragonanddirewolf !! I have a nsfw as well that I can't wait to share ;)


	9. Pater

_ **King’s Landing - 1930** _

  
It’s indescribable, the devastating blow Daenerys was dealt by Jacaerys’s rejection. 

No, that’s not Jacaerys. That’s not the man she loves nor is he the man she’s been longing for after all this time. Perhaps he will never awaken from his slumber. Perhaps he’s lost to her forever. 

That was Jon Snow who rejected her.

Still, it hurts. 

Arthur holds her as she sobs on the floor of the hotel lobby. He gave up on trying to get her to tell him what happened. Daenerys tried to tell him at first but the words that formed in her throat hurt too much, making her cry harder and louder until she eventually gave up on trying. She’s meant to bear this sorrow alone, it would seem. 

Every single part of her hurts even her eyeballs, fingernails, and her gums. It’s hopelessness, despair, and destruction all rolled in one. Daenerys wants to die. She wishes that she could just stop existing, disappear forever without a trace. Would that make Jacaerys —no Jon happy? She thinks so. Perhaps she should do it as a final act of her love. 

Unfortunately, escaping this pain won’t be that easy. This pain would probably follow her into death, it's so great. She doesn’t think she could kill herself. If she tried to, her instincts would kick in and she’d save herself. And if she tried it again, the same thing would happen, turning it into an endless cycle of suffering.

This beast inside of her wants to live. It cares not for her lingering humanity that wishes to be free of this place. All it cares about is survival therefore she will live on. 

The journey from the lobby to the car out back to the manor is a blurry one. But her tears are all dried up by the time she’s placed in her bed. She just stares blankly at the concerned faces of Arthur, Missandei, and Grey Worm, unable to tell them what’s hurting her. She’s embarrassed as well honestly. Just when she was certain they would be reunited again, everything exploded in her face. 

Stupid.

She’s so fucking stupid to believe it would all be so simple. She underestimated the power of the human mind. Jacaerys’s memories are protecting him that’s all.

Once he remembers her, he’ll remember his parents and his true family. Once he learns he’s been siding with their enemy, it’ll tear him apart. He’ll struggle with his allegiance as well. Daenerys is beginning to think that it’ll be easier for Jacaerys if he never remembers her. 

She’s been selfish this whole time. She should want what’s best for him and maybe never learning the truth is what’s best for him. 

“We should give her some time,” Arthur says, pulling Missandei and Grey Worm from her bedside. “She’s in shock. We can’t do anything until she comes out of it herself.” 

He’s right. She'll have to escape this self-imposed prison on her own. She watches them leave her bedroom. Since she can’t die and since she refuses to try to pursue Jacaerys again, she goes to sleep. 

Hopefully, a deep slumber for a decade or two can make the pain go away.

* * *

“What a wild night that was.” 

Blinking his eyes open, Viserys sees Arianne hanging off the side of the bed staring down at him. Her eyes are healed and though she looks like she’s been put through the wringer, she’s overcome her shock. Thankfully, her covens’ spell worked. 

Viserys reaches up and cups the side of her face. “Happy to have you back.” His memories of the dream he had last night flood his mind, filling him with a deep sadness. “Rhaegar killed my soulmate in the past before we could even get acquainted.” The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. 

“I see we both need a drink.” 

The alcohol won’t do anything for him. Well, one glass won’t. But he goes to the kitchen with her anyway and accepts the glass of bourbon. They sit at the table. During the day, the shack doesn’t look so ominous. Arianne is more at home here than at her suite in the city, too. That’s because this is the real her. She has her coven close by but she enjoys being alone with her goddess. 

“I’m assuming Rhaegar was in his dark state when that happened…” 

Viserys clenches his jaw. “It was the start of it.” He can’t be upset with his brother for that as it was an honest mistake. But damn that doesn’t mean he isn’t upset. How different would things be had he known who Daemon was to him? He would’ve protected him that’s for sure. “Lots of shit is going down while my brother is taking a nap. How convenient.” 

“You blame him?” 

“I…” Viserys sighs. “No. Yes. I know I shouldn’t but I’m pissed at him.” Being pissed at Rhaegar takes the heat off himself.

Had he paid attention to Daemon from the very start, he could’ve saved his life. They could’ve been together and still together today. Instead, Daemon was killed and reborn into a life of suffering. That man would’ve never hurt him if- 

“Fuck,” Viserys says, dismissing the thought. There’s nothing to be done now. “Why does my soulmate have to be a hunter?” 

“Isn’t Daenerys’s beau a hunter as well?” 

“They’re partners.” 

Arianne laughs. “The blue-eyed beauty, is it? Why are you upset? He’s quite handsome.” 

“His looks were never the problem.” Viserys pours himself another drink because he needs it. He needs the whole damn bottle plus another, honestly. “How in the hell am I going to convince him that we’re soulmates. This won’t be easy because we didn’t have a strong connection in the past.” 

“Looks like you’re going to have to woo him on your own.” 

“Well,” Viserys says, “looks like I’ll be alone for the rest of my existence.” 

There’s no way in hell he’s going to be able to woo Daemon and have him accept his true nature.

* * *

Neither Jon nor Daemon are open to discussing their night off which is fine and dandy with the former who has no intention of sharing how his night with Daenerys went. 

If that whole ordeal wasn’t humiliating, and stress-inducing enough, the dreams Jon had that night were just as bad. He dreamt that he was falling down an endless black hole. Then the hole brightened with white light as scattered images played around him. 

There was his mother and a faceless man playfully running with him in the woods, his joyous laughs, and the chirping of birds ringing in his ears. That image then morphed into one of his mother bleeding from the neck as a monster feasted on her. Jon ran to help her but then the image was replaced by an image of Daenerys dressed like one of the women in portraits in the history museums. 

She kept calling him “Jacaerys” and once she referred to him as her fiance. Then came the final image, well the one he could remember best. Daenerys smiled a pretty smile, flashing a pair of blood-tipped fangs at him. 

Jon woke up after that, sweating and panting heavily. He didn’t go back to sleep after that. He just sat up in his bed, waiting. 

Now the wait is over. 

“What am I supposed to be seeing?” Daemon asks, staring at the map of King’s Landing that’s rolled out on the table. 

Taking out a pencil, Jon draws a circle around _Rhaella’s_. “This is the center of it all.” He drags his finger over to the alley where the first body was found, drawing another circle. Then he finds the area where the fledgling was before it arrived at the lounge to attack Daenerys. “All of these places are connected by the lounge.” He draws another circle. 

Frowning, Daemon looks at the map closely. 

While he does so, Jon tries to remember the address of the hotel without consulting the card Daenerys gave him. 

“Aegon and 7th,” Daemon says pointing. “Seems unrelated if you’re unfamiliar with the city but it’s actually not that far from the lounge if you take these back streets…” 

Jon circles that as well. With a little more searching, he finds the hotel. “This is owned by them too.” He circles the hotel. “All of the murders have occurred at or near these locations. That isn’t a coincidence, Daemon.” 

“Wait, you think the Targaryen siblings…” 

“Are somehow connected to the fledgling attacks? Yes, I do.” Jon rolls up the map and pockets it. “They’re the first people we met when we came here, Daenerys always seems to pop up out of nowhere, and all of the attacks happen at their doorsteps. That’s fishy.” 

Daemon looks as if he’s battling with something. 

Sighing, Jon touches Daemon’s shoulder. “I know you fancy Viserys but there’s a strong chance he and his sister are purebloods. They can be out during the daytime, can pass as humans easily, and they...they don’t even seem real.” 

Daemon brushes Jon’s hand off his shoulder. “I hear you,” he says, resigned albeit reluctantly. “We should do more digging, though. Let’s find the city’s records and see how long they’ve been here.” 

That’s more like his partner. 

He knew the man would set aside any interest he may have for Viserys aside in favor of getting to the bottom of this. As for Jon’s feelings for Daenerys, he has none. His gut is telling him that she’s the root of all this evil, and no part of him can ever care about a blood-sucking creature. She tried to get in his head, tried to make him believe they had some kind of connection. 

Hell, he doubts the memory powder even worked on her. 

That sneaky bitch has been playing him this whole time. Clenching his jaw, his hands trembling. And he allowed it. He was too wrapped up in her pretty face that it blinded him from his true goal here. He’s never let anyone get in his head like that. Why her? 

“Jon?” Daemon asks warily. 

Jon blinks, his anger leaving him. “Go wash up. We’ll be leaving in 15.” 

Daemon hesitates, seeing something in Jon that gives him pause. He opens his mouth to say something, possibly a question of concern or a comment about how strange Jon is acting. But the man says nothing. He takes clean clothes with him to the shower down the hall. 

Jon gets ready in his own way. He pulls his hunter’s bag from under the bed, grabbing everything he can easily carry on his belt and arming himself with knives and his pistol on the crisscrossed holster on his back. 

This job ends today, and he’s going to make sure every last vampire here is dead.

* * *

They have to do less than honorable things to get access to the city’s public records with them being outsiders and all. 

But then again, all of their methods are less than honorable. They use magic to gain access to areas typically restricted to civilians, they tamper with people’s memories, and they’ve caused several civilian casualties on the hunt more than they can count. 

Honor has no place in their line of work, Jon has long accepted that. Innocent people will die, lines will be crossed, and loyalties tested, time and time again. What matters is how they end things. 

Staring at the peaceful face of the sleeping desk clerk, Jon closes the supply closet door. He places a time-limited warding spell on it to keep the clerk in and to keep others out. When the woman wakes up all that she’ll remember is that she got suddenly sleepy and decided to take a nap. 

“Let’s make this quick,” Jon says to Daemon as they walk down the rows and rows of shelves of the archives, their boots dirtying the black and white marble floors. 

Someone will notice the dirt, he’s sure but before anyone can connect any dots they’ll be out of the city. 

“The Ts are this way,” Daemon says, taking a sharp right. He’s more eager than he was before they left their room. It’s as if everything has finally sunk in. 

Jon wants to ask Daemon about his night though he doesn’t want to talk about his own. The way Daemon is acting about all this makes Jon think that the man has spent time with Viserys or has at least spoken to him outside of that one time they met the man. 

Is Daemon in denial? Does he want to hurry up and get this over with so he can either be relieved that Viserys is innocent or hurt that he missed all the signs? 

Perhaps Jon is projecting.

“We’ll need a ladder.” Daemon looks up to where the ‘Targaryen’ slot is and then he glances down the aisle. 

Jon sees the sliding ladder at the end of the aisle. He runs and gets it. 

“Compared to the others, there isn’t much on them,” Daemon says as they comb through the folder’s contents. 

His partner is right. The other folders have to be bound with a thin rope to keep them from spilling open. Even then there are slips of papers and photographs sticking out. This folder contains no more than ten documents that consist of signed deeds, a few photos of properties, and a handful of newspaper clippings. 

“Didn’t the person in the lounge say the Targaryen siblings moved here 3 years ago?” Jon asks rhetorically. “This deed says the Targaryen family purchased the old Winsel manor nine years ago…” 

There’s even a newspaper article about it. 

According to the paper clipping, Edward Winsel, a past mayor of King’s Landing had just renovated his family’s home by adding more rooms and a solar, making it the largest estate in the city. Then months later, he sold it to siblings, Aegon, Baelor, and Shiera Targaryen. In the accompanying photograph, the young siblings pose in front of the house. Immediately, Jon recognizes that “Baelor” is Viserys and “Shiera” is Daenerys. 

This photo was taken nearly a decade ago and the siblings haven’t changed, not even in the slightest. 

“Impossible…” Daemon utters. 

Before Jon can fully grasp what this all means, he sees_ him_. The man, Aegon. He doubts that’s even his real name but that doesn’t matter to him. It’s his face. He knows that face. That face has haunted him all of his life. 

Standing in the middle of Viserys and Daenerys is a tall, handsome man with long hair that Jon knows is silver-blonde just like the others. Without the glowing eyes, bloodied mouth, and claws the man almost looks kind but Jon knows the truth. 

Unbiddenly, a low, angry growl escapes him as he rips the photo and throws the folder to the floor. His heart is racing, his blood pumping frantically in his veins, and his teeth ache. Gods, he wants to tear into something right now. He wants to make something, no, someone bleed, and hurt. 

“Jon.” He hears Daemon’s voice sounding as if it’s coming from the other side of the building. Then he feels a touch on his shoulder. 

With a sharp snarl, Jon grabs the hand tightly and throws the person back. Hearing a body colliding with one of the shelves, he turns around to see Daemon on the floor, cradling his right hand. 

A bit of Jon’s anger leaves him. He hasn’t been this angry in years. 

Daemon gets up quickly. “What in the fuck is your problem?” he asks, getting in a fighting stance. 

They’ve tousled in the past whenever Jon got like this. Even if Daemon understands the lashing out, he isn’t the kind of man to sit there and take it. So they usually fight until Jon's head clears. But this time, Jon doesn’t want to waste any energy on his partner. He’s saving all this rage for one person. 

“That’s him,” Jon says through gritted teeth. “That’s the creature that murdered my mother.” He picks up what's left of the photo and shows Daemon the man. 

“He...he favors them,” Daemon says, swallowing hard. “They could almost be siblings.” 

“That’s cause they are siblings. All purebloods.” 

Daemon’s face crumbles. 

Staggering back, Jon looks down at a document that’s under his foot. Stepping back, he picks it up. It’s the deed for the lounge. He gets an idea. “And I think I know where their fledglings are hiding…

* * *

For a manor full of dead things, Viserys is surprised by how quiet the place is when he returns from Arianne’s shack. He tried to stay away for as long as he could, not ready to share what he saw in his dream with anyone, especially not Daenerys. 

That’ll only give his sister another reason to feel terrible for how she used him in the past, and as angry and bitter as he is, he can’t put her through anymore suffering. 

Viserys tries to enter Daenerys’s room to ask her how her night with Jacaerys went, but Arthur stops him. 

“She’s sleeping,” the man says, his expression grave. “She’s in her deep slumber.” 

Viserys frowns. “Why would she do that when she knows Jacaerys is here?” Did he leave? “Arthur, what happened last night?” 

“I’m not sure. She just ran into the hotel lobby crying her eyes out. She wouldn’t tell me a thing. I doubt that she could.” 

Staggering back in shock, Viserys raises a hand up to his mouth. “He...rejected her?” He steps around Arthur, pushing open the double doors of his sister’s bedroom. “Impossible.” 

Daenerys is laying on her bed as still as one of the marble statues in their hedge maze. Unlike Rhaegar and Lyanna who wear similar expressions of peacefulness in their sleep, his sister is frozen in despair. She’s heartbroken. Completely and utterly heartbroken. Viserys can feel his ire rising. Who in the fuck does Jacaerys think he is to reject her and leave her like this? 

“I’m going to rip his spine out and beat him with it,” Viserys says, his voice tinged with a growl. 

“And Daenerys, Rhaegar, and Lyanna will do the same to you,” Arthur replies. He touches Viserys’s shoulder. “Jacaerys is trapped inside of an angry, vengeful man. We cannot fault him for not realizing her importance to him.” 

Viserys knows that. He does. But he’s always been protective of his little sister. It’s just his instinct. 

“She should be in her coffin,” Viserys says, defeated. “If she chose to sleep rather than pursuing him further, I’ll respect that.” He goes to her bed and scoops her up. She’s so small in his arms. 

Arthur leads the way to the cellar. 

Missandei and Grey Worm are sleeping in their shared coffin. Daenerys’s glass coffin rests beside Rhaegar’s. As Viserys is gently lowering her in, his sister begins to thrash in his arms. Startled by the unexpected surprise, he lifts her back up, frantically looking over her body to see if she has an injury he might’ve missed earlier. 

Then Daenerys’s eyes flash open, glowing a deep purple. She lets out a shriek as she clutches at her heart. 

“Daenerys?” 

“My children!” she screams, blood tears falling down her face. “My children! They’re killing my children!” 

The top of Missandei and Grey Worm’s coffin falls open as the two sit up, arms outstretched as their cries of mourning match Daenerys's. Viserys looks to Arthur but the man is already running out of the cellar. 

Viserys kneels down on the cold floor, still holding onto Daenerys as she sobs.

It would appear someone has discovered one of her nests.

* * *

Seven fledglings were nesting under _Rhaella’s_. 

Jon and Daemon cut two down before they can even wake up, but the cry of their fallen brothers spring the remaining five into action. Two crawls up the walls and ceiling of the basement with great speed as the other three try to make a run for the door. All of them work at the lounge. Jon remembers their faces well. Even one of the band members is down here. 

Were all of them vampires this entire time? 

A lounge is a perfect front, honestly. Its late-night hours gives them all a way to hide in plain sight. With makeup and the dim lighting in the place, their vampiric features can be masked as well. 

From the very start, Jon and Daemon were being played. They spent all that time searching for their prey when their prey was right in front of them. 

Blocking the end of the staircase, Daemon unravels his chain and expertly whips it around, giving the three fledglings a glimpse of what’s to come. The bravest out of the three charges forward. Daemon doesn’t balk. He never does. He thrusts the chain forward, wrapping it around the fledgling’s neck, then he jerks on the chain hard as he drops to one knee, tearing the beast’s head clean off. 

As the body explodes into black ashes, the other two attack Daemon. 

Taking his eyes off the two above him, Jon throws a silver dagger at one of the fledglings attacking Daemon, hitting it square in the back. It falls to the floor, screaming in pain as the poison spreads through its body. It won’t die for a while. But it won’t be moving either. 

Then Jon turns his focus back on the two who are still on the ceiling, snarling down at him. Why won’t they attack him? He gave them plenty of time to try and do so but they made no move. It doesn’t matter. They didn’t come here for a good fight. They came here to kill. 

Jon takes out his pistol and shoots one of them in the head and it dies on impact. The other, a brunette woman, looks at the place where her fellow fledgling just was and cries out. 

In the background, Daemon battles with his opponent. Unlike the ones they’ve killed so far, this one is putting up an actual fight. The one Jon put a dagger in is still on the floor writhing in pain. Even though this isn’t over, it was far too easy.

They entered their nest. Where are the creatures’ aggression and bloodthirst? 

Jon looks into the eyes of the female fledgling that’s on the ceiling and sees nothing but sadness and fear. If he listens closely, he can even hear her heart beating. Something in him warms at that. 

Disgusted with himself, he aims his gun at the female. There’s no way in hell he almost sympathized with this creature. The woman crawls out of the range of his pistol but still doesn’t attack. 

“Fight me dammit!” Jon yells at her. 

The female jumps from the ceiling. But she doesn’t attack him. She bows at his feet, crying. 

Startled, Jon stumbles back and stares at her bowed head. Why is she bowing to him as though he were...royalty? 

The sound of a chain digging into flesh and the following shriek lets Jon know that Daemon has finished off his opponent even if he doesn’t look to see it happen. He’s still staring at the woman’s head, unsure of how to proceed. He was furious when he came in here but her actions have quieted him. 

Daemon slowly approaches the female from behind. He looks at Jon for a signal. 

Jon glances over at the man that’s still writhing on the floor. He intended to keep him so that they could interrogate him, but the woman seems like she’d be more willing to talk. Aiming his pistol at the man’s head, Jon fires. 

The woman doesn’t even react. She just keeps her head bowed. 

Kneeling in front of her, Jon can hear that she’s actually mumbling something. 

“Mother...mother save us…” she’s saying. “Mother please…” 

“Who’s your mother?” Jon asks her. His gut tells him that he already knows the answer. “What’s her name?” 

The female looks at him. “Do you not know?” she asks, sounding crazed. “She is your queen. You are her king.” The fledgling begins crying again. “Father! Father, why are you killing us?” 

They’re adults but newly changed fledglings are often childlike. They usually have to relearn everything. Some learn on their own with time. Others are no better than infants, making it easier for them to be hunted and killed. 

Jon feels a sharp pain in his chest. “Who is your father?” he asks, afraid of what her answer may be. 

The fledgling looks at him then at the gun in his hand. “Mother,” she says. “Forgive me!” With lightning speed, she takes the gun from Jon’s hand and puts the muzzle in her mouth. She pulls the trigger before he can stop her. 

As her remains slowly fall into a pile of black ashes on the floor, Jon thinks about how, with that speed, she could’ve killed him at any moment. 

The turn of events leaves him and Daemon silent long after they gather the remains in jars to prove their kills to the Lord Commander. They both know where they have to go next. Considering this is their first time up against purebloods, the wise thing to do would be to request backup. They don’t, however. 

Aside from this now being personal for them both, Jon doesn’t want to risk their prey evading them. It all ends here today. 

As they’re walking out of the front door of the lounge, they see Arthur standing across the street staring right at them as several automobiles pass by on the streets. He’s wearing brown tweed pants, a brown vest over his white dress shirt that has the sleeves rolled, and a brown cap. 

The fact that he’s outside during the day means he’s not a fledgling, but he isn’t human either. Jon isn’t sure how he knows that as the man looks more human than Jon himself does. It’s just a hunch. So far, his hunches haven’t let him down, either. 

A big, furniture store truck drives past. Once it’s gone, Arthur is gone as well without a trace. 

“He’s going back to tell them about this so they’ll be expecting us,” Jon says. 

“Should we wait then?” 

“Best to go now.” Jon looks up at the sky. “The sun will keep any backup from coming to their aid.” 

“You are aware we may die there, correct?” Daemon asks, sounding resigned to that fate. 

“We’ve never run from death before. Why start now?” Jon hails a cab, too anxious to bother walking all the way to the manor. “Don’t tell me you’ve got cold feet,” he says, teasing. This could be their last time joking like this. 

Daemon chuckles, approaching the cab. “You know I’ve been ready to die for some time now. Might as well go out with a bang.” He gets into the cab. 

Smiling, Jon gets in behind him. 

All smiles die once they’re out of city limits and nearing the countryside. Jon has the cabbie drop them off a few miles away from the manor and pays him double the fare to keep him from asking questions. They don’t start walking until the cabbie has made a u-turn and is far out of sight. 

“You remember the coordinates?” Jon asks just for something to say. This may be the last time they see one another, after all. 

Daemons nods. “Let’s hope we meet at the end,” he says. “Good luck, Jon.” He dashes toward the lining woods on the left side of the street, disappearing out of sight. 

Jon takes the right side. Splitting up has always helped them in the past. Hopefully, it doesn’t let them down now.

* * *

The kiss meant nothing, Daemon repeats to himself as he sticks close to the shadows of the manor and makes his way to the back, knowing that Jon will take the front as always. 

The kiss meant nothing. Viserys was using him, that’s it. Nevermind the fact that the kiss felt genuine and made him feel things he’s never felt before. Nevermind how Viserys never made him feel unsafe or repulsed about his own body the way others have in the past. None of that matters in the grand scheme of things. 

Daemon is a hunter, Viserys is his prey. He will kill him or die trying. 

How ironic that his first kiss would be with a vampire. At this point, he’s certain the gods love to toy with him more than any other mortal. If he makes it out of this, he will never speak of it. Not ever. No one will know how he foolishly fell for the enemy. 

There is a hedge maze in the back of the manor, a garden, and a gazebo. What do vampires need with such luxury? He’s seen fledglings live in slums and even in sewers. Do purebloods see themselves as vampiric royalty? Well, in a way they are, aren’t they? Beautiful, graceful, and stronger than all of their kind. 

Daemon grits his teeth. How can he still think the man is beautiful after knowing what he is? Does an object’s beauty change with the revelation of its true nature? 

Enough with the pondering, he tells himself. Viserys is evil. He has to die. That’s what it all boils down to.

He sees a chained outside basement door that he knows will, not only lead him inside but probably take him to right where the creatures rest. He’ll be in the heart of it all. Without Jon, he’ll surely die. 

Daemon approaches the door, eyeing the chains. Perhaps he can take out a few for his partner as a parting gift. 

“You’re trespassing.” 

Turning around at the sound of the voice, Daemon sees the man from earlier standing there. Olive skin, purple eyes, and a strong, elegant, Dornish accent.

“You’re a Dayne,” he says, knowingly. 

The man nods. “Arthur Dayne,” he says politely. 

Daemon raises an eyebrow at that. “The lost heir,” he says quietly. “I grew up hearing stories about how you disappeared and never returned. Is this what you’ve been doing all this time?” 

“I wouldn’t call myself an heir. I was disinherited.” Arthur stuffs his hands in his pockets lazily. “That aside, I wouldn’t advise you tampering with that door.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Two people who are very dear to me rest there.” 

Daemon cracks a smile. “Two vampires, yes?” 

“Correct and if you touch that door, I’ll have to kill you. Do not make me spill Dornish blood.” 

“I haven’t been Dornish for a long time.” Daemon takes out his chain, the heavy metal hitting the soft grass. “So, think nothing of it.” He faces the door and cracks his whip across it, breaking the chains. 

Arthur is incredibly fast and silent. Daemon barely has time to duck low and evade the attack. He swipes his chain at Arthur’s legs but the man leaps high in the air before it can connect. As Arthur is coming back down to earth, Daemon rolls out of the way to avoid being crushed to death with the man’s feet. 

Hands down, this is the toughest opponent he’s ever faced. 

Daemon’s speed seems tortoise-level in regards to Arthur’s. He only manages to last this long out of pure luck and a desire to win despite the odds being stacked against him. If he can at least kill this man, that should help Jon a little. 

He whips his chain as fast as he can, trying to hit Arthur with it, but the man dodges every attack. If he weren’t fighting for his life, Daemon would be awestruck by the man. His movements are fluid and as silent as still waters. As disappointing as it would be to die before entering the manor, Daemon thinks he would be fine dying at the hands of a worthy opponent. 

Daemon gives it his all until he’s sweating, and his arm is numb from overuse. Still, he fights. 

Arthur even acknowledges him. 

“The other hunters I’ve faced weren’t worth the effort,” Arthur says, crouching down, looking for an opening. “But you, you’re a warrior. What’s your name? I want to remember you.” 

“Daemon.” 

“I will never forget it.” Arthur finds his opening. He lunges forward, hands outstretched, aiming at Daemon’s throat. 

In a flash, someone is in between them, holding Arthur by the wrist with a tight grip, saving Daemon from his fate. 

“I will not be letting anyone else kill him,” Viserys says with a snarl. He shoves Arthur away. “Jacaerys is in the manor. I don’t think Daenerys is stable enough to confront him. Ensure he doesn’t see _them_...he’s not ready for that yet.” 

Arthur bows then he takes his leave. 

When Viserys faces him, Daemon’s shock wears off quickly. He drops his chain, walks up to the man, and punches him in the face. Viserys falls back and Daemon straddles him, punching him again and again. Each bruise heals before his fist connects again. Any blood that spills from the man’s nose dries up. 

Growing tired of the onslaught, Viserys grabs Daemon’s fist and throws the man off of him. 

“Are you done with your tantrum?” Viserys asks. This time he straddles Daemon. “As you can see, none of your punches do any damage nor do they hurt.” 

Daemon struggles against him. “Fuck you!” 

Viserys smirks, lowering his face. “Maybe after you wake up,” he whispers. 

He frowns in confusion. 

“Sleep,” Viserys says as he stares into his eyes. 

And Daemon sleeps.

* * *

Entering the manor through the front door was too easy, meaning that they know he’s here.

Jon creeps through the dark halls, pistols drawn, senses pushed to their limit. The curtains might as well be drawn back what with how clearly he sees. He can even see the dust particles in the air around him. He can smell the slowly rotting fruit in the kitchen. 

Up until now, Jon has just accepted this part of himself. He can see, smell, and hear better than the others. He’s faster and stronger as well. Why? Why is that? Why did that female fledgling call him father? These are but a few of the questions he has.

Questions that he knows he may never get the answer to. 

Daenerys could have killed him and Daemon both anytime she wanted. It doesn’t hurt his pride to admit that. They’ve always been at her mercy. She kept them alive for a reason. Was it all a game? That doesn’t explain the dreams he’s been having or what happened last night at the hotel. 

Hearing a creak in the floorboard, Jon looks over his shoulder quickly, seeing nothing. When he turns his head again, he sees Daenerys standing at the end of the hallway wearing a white nightgown. There are bags under her bloodshot eyes and her hair is no longer styled in pretty curls but in messy waves. 

“Welcome home,” she says, smiling sadly. “I always wanted to bring you here myself but you came on your own.” 

Jon aims his gun at her. “I know what you are.” He blinks, and she’s standing right in front of him. She moved so damn fast that it genuinely scares him. 

Daenerys frowns. “I don’t want to fight you, Jacaerys.” 

“Stop calling me that!” Jon fires his gun at her.

The bullet shatters the vase of flowers that sits on the table at the end of the hall. Daenerys is on the side of him now. Annoyed, she grabs the barrel of the gun and bends it as though it were taffy. Tossing the gun aside, he aims the other at her, and she knocks it out of his hand. 

“I said,” she says angrily, her eyes glowing, “I don’t want to fight you!” She grabs him by the collar of his coat and slings him down the end of the hall. 

Jon back hits the table, shattering it. Blinking rapidly, he looks up, seeing Daenerys kneeling in front of him. She pets his face calmly as if she didn’t just blow up moments ago. 

“You killed our children," she says, her voice cracking. "I felt them die one by one.” 

Not only is she a vampire but she’s mental as well. Great. He knew she was too pretty. Something had to be wrong with her. 

Since it’s clear that she’s not the damsel she pretended to be, he doesn’t hold back. He kicks her in the stomach. Groaning, she grabs him by the leg and picks him up. 

She’s far stronger than she looks. 

Daenerys throws him again. This time down the corridor to the right. Jon rolls to a stop. Getting up, he pulls out a silver dagger from his belt. 

“This is just like old times,” Daenerys says as she slowly stalks forward. “Except, back then, we would fuck after we sparred. Something tells me we won’t be fucking anytime soon.” 

Jon smirks. “Sorry, I’m not into your type.” 

Daenerys smirks back. “You were into me when we first met.” She cups her face, slowly dragging her red painted nails down to her neck then her chest. She runs her hands over her breasts as she sighs delightfully. “I could smell the arousal on you. You wanted me so badly just like you did every single time we met after that.” 

Pissed that she knows that, Jon throws his dagger at her. It hits her in the thigh. Cursing, she yanks it out and tosses it aside. The wound in her thigh sizzles and emits smoke as it slowly heals. The poison does nothing to stop her. 

“That was before I realized what you are,” Jon says, reaching for another dagger. Before she can reach him, he opens the door to his right and runs into the room. 

It’s not a room at all, but another corridor. 

It’s cold and damp in here and it smells like mildew. Up ahead, he can see stairs leading down. 

Too late does he understand that she’s been guiding him here this entire time. When he turns back toward the door, Daenerys is standing in front of him. Jon tries to stab her in the face but she grabs him by the wrist, squeezing hard enough to make him drop the dagger. 

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” she says as she lifts him and carries him to the stairs as though he weighed nothing. “But you need to wake up, Jacaerys.” She throws him down the stairs harshly. 

Jon hits the bottom with a hard thud. Sore all over and bleeding somewhere on his body, he struggles to his knees. 

“What are you doing, Daenerys?!” Arthur says, trying to get past her. “He’ll kill them!” 

“No, he won’t,” Daenerys says, pushing Arthur back. “This is the only way. Please, trust me.” She slams the door and locks it from the sound of it. 

Furious, Jon fists his hands in his hair. “Come down here and fight me, you fucking bitch!” He shouts. 

He runs up the stairs. If she won’t come to him, he’ll go to her.

Reaching the door, he tries to kick it down and burst through it by adding all of his weight to his shoulder but it doesn’t budge. This isn’t a normal door. It may look like a normal wooden door but it’s sturdier. He’s trapped down here. 

No. No, fuck that. Every basement has an outside basement door, right? Jon runs around the room in search of it. His search takes him deeper into the darkness, however. It’s so dark back here that even he has to squint his eyes. With a little effort, he makes out four glass coffins and a large wooden coffin. 

Jon remembers what Arthur shouted. He said that Jon would kill _them_. And Daenerys said that he wouldn’t. He smiles darkly. Just to show her that she doesn’t know shit about him, he takes out another dagger. 

He’ll kill whoever is in the coffins and skin them. That’ll show her not to toy with him. 

The first coffin is filled with blue roses. They’re the first thing that catches Jon’s attention. Someone probably changes the flowers out a lot or perhaps there’s some kind of spell that keeps them fresh and fragrant. He can smell them through the glass. 

Familiarity tugs at his senses. He knows this scent. 

The second thing Jon notices is long, dark hair framing a beautiful pale face. The dagger drops from his hand as Jon drops to his knees, eyes watering. 

“Mother?” he croaks. He touches the glass, staring at the woman closely. There’s no doubt about it. “Mother!” 

How is this possible? Why is she here? Why do they have her? Is she alive? What’s happening? 

Question after question floods his mind as he frantically pats around the coffin for the latch. She looks just as he remembered her. Young and beautiful. Jon finds the latch and pops it open. He pulls his mother out of the coffin, holding her close to him, finding her skin cold. But he can hear her heart beating. 

Filled with a happiness he can’t begin to describe, Jon hugs her tightly. “Mother...I thought...I thought you were dead…” He cries. 

She isn’t moving, though. 

Jon lowers her and pats her face softly. “Mother, it’s me.” He brushes her hair away. “Wake up. Please!” 

While he tries to wake her up, he doesn’t notice the other coffin’s door quietly opening as slender fingers touch the edge. He doesn’t pick up on the sound of long nails scraping the glass as the person rises out. 

“What are you doing with my bride?” a hauntingly cold voice asks from behind him. 

Stiffening, Jon turns around. A tall, handsome man stands before him, his indigo eyes glowing menacingly in the dark. The killing intent radiating off of him would make a lesser man piss himself. 

Jon’s not a lesser man. 

It’s him. It’s the monster Jon has been hunting all of this time. Lowering his mother to the floor. Jon takes off his coat and removes the knives from his back holster. Standing, he moves to a stance, putting himself in front of his mother protectively. 

“Come on, you piece of shit,” Jon says. “Try and take her from me. I’ll cut you to pieces!” 

He’s not a scared little boy anymore. 

The vampire is unimpressed. 

“An ant has trespassed into my home and thinks it can carry my bride away.” The man stalks forward, the power he exudes altering the atmosphere. “Now it makes empty threats. I never thought my first meal in decades would be so underwhelming.” His nostrils flare as he sniffs the air. 

Then the vampire pauses. 

“...Jacaerys?” 

There goes that fucking name again. 

Jon rushes forward and swipes his knife at the vampire’s face. His blade only connects with the air, unfortunately. Stumbling back, he whips his head around, looking around the room. Seeing that the vampire has recaptured his mother and is now holding her, Jon charges him again. 

The man evades his attacks all while holding on to his mother. Every time his knife fails to connect, Jon grows angrier. He also has to be mindful of his mother, however. If he slips up, it could cost her her life. 

“You’re weak,” the man says, not unkind. “Weaker than you truly are. I assume you were trained by humans.” 

“Stop fucking moving and fight me!” 

“If I do that, I’ll kill you.” The vampire moves out of the way of another attack with ease. Then he carries Jon’s mother back to the coffin and lays her down gently. “And your mother wouldn’t be too happy about me killing our son.” 

Jon halts. The wind is knocked out of him.“Y...your what?” He refuses to believe that. This is just another head game. “No….I can’t be your son...” 

“I can see that you lack a proper education.” The vampire walks toward him slowly. “Humans don’t understand us therefore they were incapable of training you properly. Here’s lesson one.” He takes the knife away from Jon who’s too stunned to do anything. “As your sire, I’m the only one who can compel you.” 

“Wha-” 

“Sleep, Jacaerys. And remember.”

* * *

They wait anxiously outside the door.

The door to the cellar is enchanted, keeping people and sound in and out of it. So, they have no idea what's happening down there. Arthur is pacing in the hallway, worried that he’s left his dear friends to die. Viserys and Daenerys are worried as well but they know that all they can do now is hope for the best. 

All three are startled when the door swings open. Out walks Rhaegar, carrying an unconscious Jacaerys in his arms. 

At the sight of the man, the three collectively smile. 

“Brother!” Daenerys runs up to him, staring at Jacaerys. 

Rhaegar hands his son over to his sister. “I told him to sleep and to remember. I’m not sure if he’ll actually remember. But it was worth a try.” 

“Thank you, Rhaegar,” Daenerys takes Jacaerys into her arms carefully. “I tried to wake him but…” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. He’s home now.” 

“Let’s hope he sees it that way as well when he wakes up.” Rhaegar looks at Viserys and Arthur. “Now, can someone please inform me on what I’ve missed?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter will mostly consist of a flashback of how past jonerys became romantic. This story is set to end at 15 chapters by the way!


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